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COMPLETE IN ONE TOLTJMB. 



n 



JACK OOWNING'S 

LETTERS. 



BY 



MAJOR JACK DOWFING. 




JACK DOWKIJfQ IN HIS STITDT. 



"The author has the richest and most iiatunil Yankee dialect of any writer who has at- 
tMipted to give the peculiarities of Jonathan. The wit is real, attic, and something more 
than poor orthography." — Kew York Morning Despatch, 

"It is enough to observe that they emanate from tlie pen rf the original author of the 
Jack Downing Letters. His Yankee stories and style are very diverting, and posses.< an 
originality and fidelity, which are not discernable In the writiugs of a numeroiu hoi.ie of 
imi taio I s . " — The A'ew Yorker. 



}(] 1) i I a l» e I p 1) i a : , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 300 CHESTNUT STREET. 



PRICE 25 CENTS. 



m 



T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 
WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

TJie following hooks are each issued in one large duodecimo volume, 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
The Conscript; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas,. ...$1 75 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of " The Gambler's Wife," etc. 1 75 
Saratoga. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. A true Story of 1787,.. 1 75 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 75 

The Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth. Illustrated,,.. 176 
Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of " Days of Shoddy," 1 75 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of " Shoulder Straps," 1 75 

The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of " Shoulder Straps," 1 75 

The Cavalier. By G. P. K.James, author of "Lord Montagu's Page," 1 75 

Rose Foster. By George W. M. Reynolds, Esq., 1 75 

Lord Montagu's Page. By G. P. R. James, author of "Cavalier,"... 1 75 

Mrs. Ann S. Stephens' Celebrated Novels. 21 volumes in all, 36 75 

Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth's Popular Novels. 37 vols, in all, 64 75 

Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz's Novels. Twelve volumes in all, 21 00 

Frederika Bremer's Novels. Six volumes in all, 10 50 

T. A. Trollope's Works. Seven volumes in all, 12 26 

James A. Maitland's Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Q. K. Philander Doestick's Novels. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Cook Books. The best in the world. Ten volumes in all, 17 50 

Henry Morford's Novels. Three volumes in all, 6 25 

Mrs. Henry Wood's Novels. Seventeen volumes in all, 29 76 

Emerson Bennett's Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 26 

Green's Works on Gambling. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Miss Eliza A. Dupuy's A¥orks. Eleven volumes in all, 19 26 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.60 each. 

The folloxoing hooha are each issued in one large octavo volume, hound in 
cloth, at $2.00 each, or each one is done up in paper cover, at $1.60 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $2 00 

Mysteries of Paris ; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 2 00 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 2 00 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 2 00 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywino. By George Lippard, , 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 
Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 



Tilt following are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in cloth, price $2.00 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at 7 5 cents kaeh. 

Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $2 00 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,.,. Cloth, 2 00 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever,... Cloth, 2 00 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever Cloth, 2 00 

The Knischt of Gwynne, By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Arthur O'Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Kate O'Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, Cloth, 2 00 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at 75 cents each. 



1^" Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (3) 



JACK DOWNING'S 



MAJOR JACK DOWNING. 




JACK DOWNINa IN HIS STUDY. 



"There Is no doubt that the author of this little volume is the best painter 
of Yankee peculiarities that ever wrote. He is true to nature and never cari- 
catures ; but without caricaturing, is most amusing." — N. T. Courier. 



|) I) i I a h £ I p I) X a : 

T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 



VA 






i V-! 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1845, by 

Burgess, Stiunger & Co. 
In the Clerk's Office of ihe Southern District of New-York. 



THOMAS EWIN6 III 

OCTOBER 23, r947 

THE LIBRAHY OF SOfiGRESS 



L/^' y 






^ / v7 



E 



X PREFACE 

BY THE AUTHOR. 



I WENT into Burgess & Stringer's book-store 'tother 
day, under the great Museum Buildings opposite tiie 
Astor House, and was kind of shying round, and look- 
in' at the everlastin' sight of books they've got — as 
much as two cart-loads on the counter, clear from one 
end to 'tother, packed down in rows side by side, jest 
like the bricks of the side-walks in New-York, or of 
Uncle Joshua's kitchen harth in Downingville, besides 
as much as twenty cart-loads piled up round on the 
shelves. I begun at one end of the long counter, and 
was takin' a kind of raking view of the titles, and when 
I'd got over about a rod and a half of 'em, along come 
Mr. Burgess, lookin' as good natured as if he couldn't 
help it. And says he — 

" Major Downing, how are ye ? I havn't seen you 
this long time ; where have you kept yourself?" 

" O," says I, " all about in spots, and the rest of the 
time at home with Polly. But," says I, " Mr. Burgess, 
for gracious sake, you don't expect there's folks enough 
in America to read all these books, do you ?" 

" Read all these !" says he, " why. Major Downing, 
here is n't half a mouthful for 'em. There's a plaguy 
sight more folks in America, Major, than you think for ; 
and the way they swallow down these things is a cau- 
tion to old rags and paper-makers, I can tell ye. If 
we should cram every book we 've got in the store down 

(ill) 



IV PREFACE, 

their throats for breakfast, they'd be as hungry as bears 
for more by eleven o'clock, and cry out for something 
for a lunch. It's a fact. Major, the public has a dread- 
ful cravin appetite for books ; there's no pacifying of 
'em ; and it's the duty of every man that can write his 
name and spell in vi'ords of four syllables, to go to 
work and help to make books with all his might, so that 
the public shan't starve." 

I looked up at him, and says I, " Mr. Burgess, you 
are joking." 

" Upon my word, I am not," says he, " it's true as 
preachin. The sufFerins of the public for want of 
books is awful ; and now. Major Downing, you can 
write, I know you can ; I've hearn tell of your writing 
years ago, in the Gineral's time ; and now, if you've 
got one spark of patriotism or common humanity left 
in your veins, you'll go to work and contribute your 
mite to keep your countrymen from starving." 

" What," says I, " you don't mean for me to put out 
a book, du ye ?" 

" Most certainly I do,*' says he ; " it's your duty, 
and you ought to do it immediately, — this very week. 
There's thousands and thousands that have to go to bed 
supperless every night for ttie want of a shilling book, 
and get up in the morning with nothing to stay their 
stomachs for the want of a sixpenny pamphlet. Major, 
it's too bad that the public should be left to suffer so. — 
Go right to work and get us up a book this week." 

'• Well," says I, " Mr. Burgess, I don't know as I've 
got anything to make a book out of, unless it's a few 
letters I've been writing to Aunt Heziah, about the 
bobbery you Yorkers always get into about the first of 
May." 



PREFACE. V 

" Well," says he, " less see 'em." 

So I pulled 'em out of my pocket and showed 'em 
to him. He took 'em and looked 'em over, and read 
along, and his face kept growing shorter and shorter, 
and dt last it burst right open crossways, and his sides 
was all of a shake, and I thought he was going to 
swallo-(v the letters right down raw before they was 
cooked. Says I, " Mr. Burgess, don't, for it's the only 
copy I've got." 

"Just the thing, Major," says he, "as far as it goes; 
but there aint quite enough for a dose. You must add 
a little more to it." 

"But," says I, " I haint got nothin' ready." 

"Never mind," says he, "borrow a few yarns of 
your old friend that used to print your letters in the 
Gineral's time, away down east. You've done him 
many a good turn afore now, and turn about is fair 
play." 

"Very well," says I, "Mr. Burgess, if that's your 
view of the case, go ahead ; the book shall be ready 
for you to-morrow." 

And that's the reason how this book come to light. 

Major Jack Downing. 



JACK DOWNING S LETTERS. 

ANOTHER PREFACE 

BY THE PUBLISHERS. 



In laying before the public a work from so distin- 
guished a personage as the original Major Jack Down- 
ing, the Publishers feel the importance and the respon- 
sibility of the position in which they are placed, and 
the high duty they owe in the matter both to the pres- 
ent generation and to remote posterity. They would, 
therefore, enter on their duties with a formality and a 
seriousness, befitting the occasion, and with a just sense 
of the delicate relation they hold to the great author 
and the great public. 

We deem it important, in the prefatory remarks 
which we feel it our duty to make on this occasion, to 
give a brief history of Downing literature ; for we con- 
tend that there is a Downing literature in the country, 
of a distinctive character, and that the original Major 
Jack Downing, was the founder and the head of the 
school. We feel bound to go into this examination the 
more, because the matter has been greatly mystified in 
the eyes of the public, and unless something is done to 
brush away the clouds of error which have been gath- 
ered about it, there is great danger that posterity may 
never see the subject in its true light. 

To enter at once, therefore, into the merits of the 
case, we find it abundajaily proved from authentic 



JACK DOWNING S LETTEllS. 7 

records, that Major Jack Downing was born in Down- 
ingville, in the State of Maine. The precise location 
of this now somewhat celebrated village, is described 
by the Major himself, in the volume of his life and 
writings, published about ten years ago in Boston, by 
]jilly, Waite & Co., as being "jest about in the middle 
of douM east." It is a moderate day's ride from Poo- 
duck, leaving Spurwink on the left, and is represented 
by all travellers who have visited it, as being one of 
the most delightful villages in the world, and remarka- 
ble for the quiet and orderly character of its inhabitants, 
and their hearty and unaffected hospitality to strangers. 

In January, 1830, the Major, who was then only 
plain Mr. Jack Downing, made a sort of a professional 
visit to Portland, the capital of the State ; that is to say, 
he "loaded up with axe-handles, bean-poles, and so on, 
hitched on the old horse, and driv down to Portland 
to sell." Here, a combination of circumstances, most 
fortunately for the world, drew him into the paths of 
literature, legislation, and military science. The 
market was dull, he could not dispose of his vvares, 
and held on two or three weeks, having " put up at 
Ant Sally's," to see if prices would not improve. 

In the mean time, he visited the Legislature of the 
State, which was then in session in Portland, under re- 
markable circumstances. The two political parties 
were so evenly balanced, that both claimed the ascen- 
dancy in the Legislature, but neither could obtain it. 
The House was so nearly divided, that it depended 
upon one or two contested seats to turn the scale one 
way or the other. The two parties in the Senate 
were exactly equal in numbers, and it was not known 
who had been chosen Governor, nor could the votes be 



8 JACK downing's letters. 

counted till the Legislature was organized. In this 
state of things the two parties fought valiantly for every 
inch of ground, and it was six weeks after the Legisla- 
met before they succeeded in organizing the govern- 
ment for the year. 

Here was the match which fired the magazine of Mr. 
Downing's intellect. Flere his first letter to h* friends 
in Downingville, the first letter he ever wrote, went up 
like a rocket, and shed light over the surrounding 
country. Here was laid the corner-stone of the temple 
of Downing literature. As an interesting and impor- 
tant record in the history of letters, tind helles-leiters, 
in this country, it is deemed highly proper that that let- 
ter should be here inserted. We have accordingly 
taken the trouble to procure an exact and authentica- 
ted copy, and here it is. 

[The first Downing letter ever written.] 

Portland, Monday, Jan. 18, 1830. 
To Cousin Ephraim Downing up in Doioningville. 

Dear Cousin Ephraim, — I now take my pen in hand to let 
you know that I am well, hoping these few lines will find you 
enjoying the same blessing. When I come down to Portland 
I didn't think o' staying more than three or four days, if I 
could sell my load of ax handles, and mother's cheese, and 
cousin Nabby's bundle of footings ; but when I got here I 
found uncle Nat was gone a freighting down to Quoddy, and 
ant Sally said as how I shouldn't stir a step home till he come 
back agin, which wont be this month. So here I am, loitering 
about this great town, as lazy as an ox. Ax handles don't fetch 
nothing, I couldn't hardly give 'em away. Tell cousin Nabby 
I sold her footings for nine-pence a pair, and took it all in 
cotton cloth. Mother's cheese come to five-and-sixpence ; I 
got her half a pound of shushon, and two ounces of snufl", 
and the rest in sugar. When uncle Nat comes home I shall 
put my ax handles aboard of him, and let him take 'em to 
Boston next time he goes ; I saw a feller tother day, that told 
me they'd fetch a good price there. — I've been here now a 
whole fortnight, and if I could tell ye one half I've seen, I 



JACK DOAYNING'S LETTERS. 9 

guess you'd stare worse than if you'd seen a catamount. I've 
been to meeting, and to the museum, and to both Legislaters, 
the one they call the House, and the one they call the Sinnet. 
I spose uncle Joshua is in a great hurry to hear something 
about these Legislaters ; for you know he's always reading 
newspapers, and talking politics, when he can get any body 
to talk with him. I've seen him, when he had five tons of hay 
in the field well made, and a heavy shower coming up, stand 
two hours disputing with Squire \V. about Adams and Jack- 
son, one calling Adams a tory and a fed, and the other saying 
Jackson was a murderer and a fool ; so they kept it up, till 
the ram began to pour down, and about spoilt all his hay. 

Uncle Joshua may set his heart at rest about the bushel of 
corn that he bet long with the post-master, that Mr. Ruggles 
would be Speaker of that Legislator, they call the House ; 
for he's lost it, slick as a whistle. As 1 hadn't much to do, 
I've been there every day since they've been a setting. A 
Mr. White of Monmouth was the Speaker the two first days ; 
and I can't s^e why they didn't keep hiin in all the time ; ibr 
he seemed to be a very clever good-natured sort of man, and 
he had such a smooth pleasant way with him, that I couldn't 
help feeling sorrj'' when they turned him out and put in 
another. But some said he wasn't put in hardly fair; and I 
dont know as he was, for the first day when they were all 
coming in and crowding round, there was a large fat man, 
with a round, full, jolly sort of a fiice, I suppose he was the 
captain, for he got up and commanded them to come to order, 
and then he told this Mr. White to whip into the chair quicker 
than you could say Jack Robinson. Some of 'em scolded 
about it, and I heard, some in a little room they called the 
lobby, say 'twas a mean trick ; but I couldn't see why, for I 
thought Mr. White made a capital Speaker, and when our 
company turns out you know the captam always has a rigiit 
to do as he's a mind to. 

They kept disputing most all the time the two first days 
about a poor Mr. Roberts from Waterborough. Some said 
he shouldn't have a seat, because he ad.ourned the town meet- 
ing, and wasn't fairly elected. Others said it was no such 
thing, and that he was elected as fairly as any of 'em. And 
Mr. Roberts himself said he was, and said he could bring men 
that would swear to it, and good men too. But natwithstand- 
ing all this, when they came to vote, they got three or four 
majority that he shouldn't have a seat. And I thought it a 
needless piece of cruelty, for they want crowded, and there 
was a number of seats empty. But they would have it so, 
and the poor man had to go and stan(^ up in the lobby. 



10 JACK downing's letters. 

Then they disputed awhile about a Mr. Fowler's having a 
seat. Some said he shouldn't have a seat, because when he 
was elected some of his votes were given for his father. But 
they were more kind to him than they were to Mr. Roberts ; 
for they voted that he should have a seat; and I suppose it 
was because they thought he had a lawful right to inherit 
whatever was his father's. They all declared there was no 
party politics about it, and I don't think there was ; for I 
noticed that all who voted that Mr. Roberts should have a seat, 
voted that Mr. Fowler should not ; and all who voted that Mr. 
Roberts should not have a seat, voted that Mr. Fowler should. 
So, as they all voted both ways, ihey must have acted as their 
consciences told them, and I dont see how there could be any 
party about it. 

It's a pity the)'' couldn't be allowed to have two speakers, 
for they seemed to be very anxious to choose Mr. Ruggles 
and Mr. Goodenow. They too had every vote, except one, 
and if they had had that, I believe they both would have been 
chosen ; as it was, however, they both came within a hum- 
bird's eye of it. Whether it was Mr. Ruggles that voted for 
Mr. Goodenow, or Mr. Goodenow^ for Mr. Ruggles, I can't 
exactly tell ; but I rather guess it was Mr. Ruggles voted for 
Mr. Goodenow, for he appeared to be very glad that Mr. 
Goodenow was elected, and went up to him soon after Mr. 
Goodenow took the chair, and shook hands with him as good 
natured as could be. I would have given half my load of ax 
handles, if they could both have been elected and set up there 
together, they would have been so happy. But as they can't 
have but one speaker at a time, and as Mr. Goodenow appears 
to understand the business very well, it is not likely Mr. 
Ruggles will be speaker any this winter. So uncle Joshua 
will have to shell out his bushel of corn, and I hope it will 
learn him better than to bet about politics again. If he had 
not been a goose, he might have known he would loose it, 
even if he had been ever so sure of getting it ; for in these 
politics there's never any telling which way the cat will jump. 
Yon know, before the last September election, some of tiie 
papers that came to our town had found out that Mf. Hunton 
would have five thousand majority of the votes. And some 
of the other papers had found out that Mr. Smith would have 
five thousand majority. Eut the cat jumped 'tother way to 
both of 'em ; for I can't find yet as either of 'em has got any 
majority. Some say Mr. Hunton has got a little majority, but 
as far from five thousand as I am from home. And as for 
Mr. Smith they don't think he has any majority at all. You 
remember, too, before I came from home, some of the papers 



JACK DOWNING'S letters. 11 

said how there was a majority of ten or fifteen national re- 
publicans, in the Legislater, and the other papers said there 
was a pretty clever little majority of democratic republicans. 
Well, now every body says it has turned out jest as that queer 
little paper, called the the Daily Courier, said 'twould. That 
paper said it was such a close rub, it couldn't hardly tell 
which side would beat. And it's jest so, for they've been 
here now motta fortnight acting jest like two boys playin see- 
saw on a rail. First one goes up, then 'tother ; but I reckon 
one of the boys is rather heaviest, for once in awhile he 
comes down chuck, and throws, the other up into the air as 
though he would pitch him head over heels. 

In that 'tother Legislater they call the Sinnet, there has 
been some of the drollest carryins on that you ever he.trd of. 
If I can get time I'll write you something about it, pretty 
soon. So I subscribe myself, in haste, your loving cousin 
till death. 

Jack Downing. 

Four days after the date of the above letter, Mr. 
Downing wrote another letter to his Uncle Joshua, of 
Downingville, who had in the mean time " loaded up" 
with turkies and "apple sass," and pushed off to Bos- 
ton, from which place he addressed the following letter 
to his nephew in Portland. 

Letter from Joshua Downing, in Boston, to his nephetv. Jack 
Doiuning, in Portland. 

Dear Nephew, — I left home just after your letter to your 
cousin Ephraim got there, and I didn't get a sight of your 
letter to me that you put into the Courier at Portland, until 
I saw it in the Daily Advertiser in Boston, and 1 guess Mr. 
Hale is the only person in Boston who takes that are little 
Courier, so you was pretty safe about the letter not being 
seen, as the printer promised you. How 1 happened to see 
it here, you will find out before I have got through with this 
letter. I guess you wont be a little struck up when you find* 
out that I'm in Boston — but I had best begin at the beginning 
and then I shall get thro' quicker. 

After seeing your letter to Ephraim as I said before, I con- 
cluded it wouldn't be a bad scheme to tackle up and take a 
load of turkies, some apple-sauce, and other notions that the 
neighbors wanted to get to market, and as your uncle Nat 
would be in Boston with the ax handles, we all thought best 



12 JACK downing's letters. 

to try our luek there. Nothing happened worth mentioning 
on the road, nor till next morning after I got here and put up 
in Ehn street. I then got off my watch pretty curiously, as 
you shall be informed. I was down in the bar room, and 
tlio't it well enough to look pretty considerable smart, and 
now and then compared my watch with the clock in the bar, 
and found it as near right as it ever was — when a feller stept 
up to me and ask't how I'd trade 1 and says I, for what 1 and 
siys he, for your watch — and says 1, any way that will be a 
fair shake — upon that says he, I'll give you my watch and live 
dollars. — Says I, its done ! He gave me the five dollars, and 
1 gave him my watch. Now, says I, give me your watch — 
and says he, with a loud laugh, I han't got none — -and that 
kind aturn'd the laugh on me. Thinks I, let them laugh that 
lose. Soon as the laugh was well over, the feller thought 
he'd try the watch to his ear — why, says he, it dont go — np, 
says I, not without its carried — then I began to laugh — he 
tried to open it and couldn't start it a hair, and broke his 
thumb nail in the bargain. Won't she open, says he 1 Net's 
I know on, says I — and then the laugh seemed to take anoth- 
er turn. 

Don't you think I got off the old Brittania pretty well, con- 
sidrin 1 And then I thought I'd go and see about my load of 
turkies and other notions. I expected to have gone all over 
town to sell my load, but Mr. Doolittle told me if I'd go down 
to the new market, I should find folks enough to buy all I had 
at once. So down I goes, and a likely kind of a feller, with 
an eye like a hawk and quick as a steeltrap for a trade, (thev 
called him a 4th staller,) came up to the wagon, and before 
you could say Jack Robinson, we struck a bargain for the 
whole cargo — and come to weigh and reckon up, I found I 
should get as much as 10s6d more than any of us calculated 
before I left home, and had the apple-sauce left besides. So 
I thought I'd jist see how this 4th staller worked his card to 
bs able to give us so good a price for the turkies, and I went 
inside the market-house, and a grander sight I never expect 
to see ! But it was the 3d staller instead of the 4th, had my 
turkies all sorted and hung up, and looking so much better 
that I hardly should know 'em. Pretty soon, a gentleman 
asked the 3d staller what he asked for turkies 1 Why, says 
he, if you want something better than you ever saw before, 
there's some 'twas killed last night purpose for you. You 
iriay take 'em at 9d, being it's you. I'll give you 12 cents, 
said the gentleman, as I've got some of the General Court to 
dine with me, and must treat well. I shant stand for half a 
cent with an old customer, says he. And so they traded ; 



JACK downing's letters. 13 

ani in about the space of half an hour or more, all my turkiea 
went into baskets at that rate. The 4th stailer gave me 6d 
a pound, and I began to think I'd been a little too much in a 
hurry for trade — but's no use to cry for spilt milk. Then I 
went up to the State House to see what was going on there ; 
but I thought rd get off my apple-sauce on my way — and see- 
ing a sign of old clothes bartered, I stepped in and made a 
trade, and got a whole suit of superline black broadcloth from 
top to toe, for a firkin of apple-sauce, (wliich didn't cost nmch 
I guess, at home.) 

Accordingly I rigged myself up in the new suit, and you'd 
hardly known me. I didn't like the set of the shoulders, they 
were so dreadful puckery ; but the man said that was all 
right. I guess he '11 lind the apple-sauce full as puckery 
when he gets down into it — but that's between ourselves. 
Well, when I got up to the vState House I found them at worlc 
on the rail road — busy enough I can tell you — they got a part 
of it made already. I found most all the folks kept their hats 
on except the man who was talking out loud and the man he 
was talking to — all the rest seemed to be busy about their 
own consarns. As I didn't see any body to talk to I kept my 
hat on and took a seat, and look'd round to see what was go- 
ing on. I hadn't been setting long before I saw a slick-head- 
ed, sharp-eyed little man, who seemed to have the principal 
management of the folks, looking at me pretty sharp, as much 
as to say who are you? but I said nothing and looked tother 
way — at last he touched me on the shoulder — I thought he 
was feeling of the puckers. Are you a member ! says he — 
sartin says I — how long have you taken your seat? says he. 
About ten minutes, says I. Are you qualified ? says he. I 
guess not, says I. And then he left me. I didn't know ex- 
actly what this old gentleman was after — but soon he return- 
ed and said it was proper for me to be qualified before I took 
a seat, and I must go before the governor ! By Jing ! I never 
felt so before in all my born days. As good luck would have 
it, he was beckoned to come to a man at the desk, and as soon as 
his back was turned I give him the slip. Jest as I was going 
olf, the gentleman who bought my turkies of the 4th stailer 
took hold of my arm, and I was afraid at first that he was go- 
ing to carry me to the Governor — but he began to talk as so- 
ciable as if we had been old acquaintances. How long have 
you been in the house, Mr. Smith, says he. My name is 
Downing, said I. I beg your pardon, says he — I mean 
Downing. It's no offence, says I. I haven't been here long. 
Then says he in a very pleasant way, a few of your brother 
members are to take pot-luck with me to-day, and I should be 



14 JACK DOWNIjSTG's LETTERS. 

happy to have you join them. What's pot-luck, said I. O, a 
family dinner, says he — ^no ceremony. I thought by this time 
I was well qualified for that without going to the Governor. 
So says I, yes, and thank ye too. How long before you'll 
want me, says I. At 3 o'clock, says he, and gave me a piece 
'of paste board with his name on it — and the name of the 
street, and the number of his house, and said that would show 
ine the way. Well, says I, I dont know of nothing that will 
keep me away. And then we parted. I took considerable 
liking to him. 

After strolling round and seeing a great many things about 
the State House and the marble immage of Gin. Washington, 
standing on a stump in the Porch, I went out into the street 
they call Bacon street, and my stars ! what swarms of women 
folks I saw all drest up as if they were going to meeting. 
You can tell cousin Polly Sandburn, who you know is no 
sliraster, that she needn't take on so about being genteel in 
her shapes — for the genteelest ladies here beat her as to size 
all hollow. I dont believe one of 'em could get into our fore 
dore — and as for their arms — I shouldn't want better measure 
for a bushel of meal than one of their sleeves could hold. I 
shant shell out the bushel of corn you say I've lost on Speak- 
er Ruggles at that rate. But this puts me in mind of the din- 
ner which Mr. wants I should help the Gineral Court 

eat. So I took out the piece of paste board, and began to in- 
quire my way and got along completely, and found the num- 
ber the first time — but the door was locked, and there was no 
knocker, and I thumpt with my whip handle, but nobody come. 
And says I to a man going by, dont nobody live here 1 and 
says he yes. Well, how do you get in ] Why, says he ring; 
and says I, ring what '^ And says he, the bell. And says I, 
Where's the rope 1 And says he, pull that little brass nub ; 
and so I gave it a twitch, and I'm sure a bell did ring ; and 
who do you think opened the door with a white apron afore 
him 1 You couldn't guess jor a week a Sundays — so Til tell 
you. It was Stephen Furlong, who kept our district school last 
winter, for 5 dollars a month, and kept bachelor's hall, and 
helped tend for Gineral Coombs a training day, and -make out 
muster rolls. We was considerably struck up at first, both of 
us ; and when he found I was going to eat dinner with Mr. 

— and Gineral Court, he thought it queer kind of doings 

— but says he, I guess it will be as well for both of us not to 
know each other a bit more than we can help. And says I, 
with a wink, you're half right, and in I went. There was 

nobody in the room but Mr. — and his wife, and not a 

sign of anv dinner to be seen any where — though I thought 



JACK downing's letters. 15 

now and then when a side door opened, I could smell cup- 
board, as they say. , , , ^ ^ 
I thought I should be puzzled enough to know what to say, 

but I hadn't my thoughts long to myself. Mr. ~'^^^ 

about as nimble a tongue as you ever heard, and could say 
ten words to my one, and I had nothing to do m the way ot 
makincT talk. Just then I heard a ringing, and Stephen was 
busy opening the door and letting in the Gmeral Court, who 
all had their hats off, and looking pretty scrumptious you 
may depend. I didn't see but I could stand along side ot em 
without disparagement, except to my boots, which had just 
got a lick of beeswax and tallow— not a mite ot dinner yet, 
and I began to feel as if 'twas nearer supper-time than dinner- 
time— when all at once two doors flew away from each other 
rio-ht into the wall, and what did I see but one oi the grand- 
est thanksgiving dinners you ever laid your eyes on— and 
lights on the table, and silver candlesticks and gold lamps 
over head— the window shutters closed— I guess more than 
one of us stared at first, but we soon found the way to our 
mouths— I made Stephen tend out for me pretty sharp, and he 
got my plate filled three or four times with soup, which beat 
all I ever tasted. I shan't go through the whole dinner again 
to you— but I am mistaken if it cost me much tor victuals 
this week, if I pay by the meal at Mr. Doolittle's, who comes 
pretty near up to a thanksgiving every day. There was con- 
siderable talk about stock and manufactories, and her bilities, 
' and rimidies, and a great loss on stock. I thought this a good 
chance for me to put in a word— for I calculated I knew as 
much about raising stock and keeping over as any of em. 

Says I to Mr. , there's one thing I've always observed 

in my experience in stock^ust as sure as you try to keep 
over more stock than you have fodder to carry them well into 
April, one half will die on your hands, to a sartinty — and 
there's no remedy for it — I've tried it out and out, and there's 
no law that can make a ton of hay keep over ten cows, unless 
you have more carrots and potatoes than you can throw a 
stick at. This made some of the folks stare who didn't know 
much about stock— and Steve give me a jog, as much as to 
say, keep quiet. He thought I was gitting into a quog-mire, 
and soon after, giving me a wink, opened the door and got me 
out of the room into the entry. 

After we had got out of hearing, says I to Steve, how are 
you getting on in the world — should you like to come back to 
keep our school if I could get a vote for you ■!- not by two 
chalks, says Steve — I know which side my bread is buttered 
better than all that — I get 12 dollars a month and found, and 



16 JACK dowi^^ing's letters. 

now and then some old clothes, which is better than keeping 
school at 5 dollars and find myself, and work out my higiiway 
tax besides — then turning up the cape of my neio coat, says 
he, I guess I've dusted that before now — most likely, says I, 
but not in our district school. And this brings to mind to tell 
you how I got a sight of your letter. They tell me here that 
every body reads the Boston Daily Advertiser, because there 
is no knowing but what they may find out something to their 
advantage, so I thought I would be as wise as the rest of 
them, and before I got half through with it, what should I find 
mixed up among the news but your letter that you put into 
that little paper down in Portland, and I knew it was your 
writing before I had read ten lines of it. 
I hope I've answered it to your satisfaction. 

Your respectful uncle, 

Joshua Downing. 

P. S. Mr. Topliff says your uncle Nat is telegraphed, but 
I'm afraid the axe handles wont come to much — I find the 
Boston follfs make a handle of most anything they can lay 
hold of, and just as like as not they'll make a handle of our 
private letters, if they should see them. 

N. B. You spell dreadful bad, according to my notion — 
and this proves what I always said, that our district has been 
going down hill ever since Stephen Furlong left it. 

A thing may sometimes be great from the force of cir- 
cumstances, when intrinsically considered, without the 
aid of those circumstances, it might not attract unusual 
aciention. It was so in some degree with the first let- 
ter of Mr. Downing. Here were the elected represen- 
tatives of a sovereign State, without law or order, jang- 
ling and quarrelling for weeks without being able to 
choose their own presiding officers, and the whole peo- 
ple were looking on, and holding up their hands in aw- 
ful consternation, expecting to be left without a govern- 
ment, and to be overwhelmed by the turbulent waves 
of anarchy and confusion. 

At this critical moment the first letter of Mr. Down- 
ing fell upon the Legislature " like a thousand of 
brick." It electrified the people of Portland and the 



JACK downing's letters. 17 

whole State, as if a flash of lightning had burst upon 
them out of a clear sky ; it waked up old Boston and 
set it in a roar ; even the fighting politicians in the Le- 
gislature did not fight with half the grit afterwards, for 
whenever they attempted to throw each other " sky- 
high." they would think of the "two-boys see-sawing 
on a rail," and laugh outright in each other's faces. 

In short, the Downing literature was planted : the 
soil was adapted to the seed, and in the nature of things 
it was bound to grow. And it did grow and flourish *' like 
a green bay horse." Mr. Downing had to stay in 
Portland and write Istters all winter ; and then he had 
to stay and write letters all summer. His popularity 
went steadily up. He was nominated in Downingville 
for Governor of the State, and at the fall election re- 
ceived every vote in his native town. Having devoted 
his valuable services to his own State for something 
more than a year, his patriotism soared higher, and 
took a wider range. In May, 1831, having heard of 
the disastrous explosion and resignation of President 
Jackson's first Cabinet, with the most heroic devotion 
to the public interests, Mr. Downing repaired to Wash- 
ington, with a view of relieving the embarrassments of 
the President by offering to fill one of the vacant Secre- 
taryships. 

Unluckily, however, for the public welfare, before he 
reached Washington, as he " had to foot it" most of the 
way, the places were filled by less efficient and less 
worthy men. Nothing daunted, but inspired by a grow- 
ing patriotism, Mr. Downing remained at head quar- 
ters, determined that the country should have his ser- 
vices, whenever they were wanted. He became ac- 
quainted with " the Gineral," and that sagacious and 



18 JACK DOWNINtt'S LETTERS, 

keen-sighted warrior and statesman soon penetrated 
and appreciated the high qualities of Mr. Downing. 
About this time a circumstance occurred which pinned 
Mm to the Gineral's heart forever. 

A new quarrel had broken out among the Cabinet 
officers. " A lady was in the case," and the quarrel 
was bitter. Major Eaton challenged Mr. Ingham, Sec- 
retary of the Treasury, to settle the matter in a duel ; 
but the latter gentleman declined the honor. Then 
Major Eaton and a gang of other gentlemen went to 
Mr. Ingham's house in the evening, and demanded 
that he should come out. This he declined also. The 
gang of gentlemen were then preparing to burst open 
the door and drag him out. At this crisis Mr. Down- 
ing mounted Mr. Ingham's, door-steps, threw off his hat 
and coat, rolled up his sleeves, struck his fists together, 
and told them " to come on, one to time, or all in a 
bunch, he didn't care which ; but before they should 
break open the door of a peaceable man who was stay- 
ing in his house as quiet as a lamb, with his wife and 
children, they should climb over his dead body." This 
settled the Jiash ; for, according to the history of the 
affair given by Mr. Downing at the time, in a letter to 
the Portland Courier, " Major Eaton and the whole 
gang of gentlemen with him turned right about and 
marched away as still as a pack of whipped puppies." 

From this time " the Gineral" hugged Mr. Downing 
to his bosom and made him his right hand man ever 
afterwards. 

In October, 1831, a dark cloud, full of thunder and 
war appeared "away down east," hanging over the 
" disputed territory" in the State of Maine, and Presi- 
dent Jackson gave Mr. Downing a Captain's commis- 



JACK dowxixg's letters. 19 

sion in the Army, with the instructions to raise a com- 
pany of volunteers in Downingville, and go down to the 
disputed territory, flog the British and malie fair weath- 
er. Capt. Downing performed the expedition, and set- 
tled the business to the satisfaction of all parties. 

Capt. Downing could now receive any thing from 
the President which he chose to ask, for himself and 
friends. He was, however, very modest and moderate 
in his reception of favors, and only allowed the Presi- 
dent to appoint that staunch patriot, " uncle Joshua 
Downing'' to the honorable position of Post Master of 
Downingville ; a position which, much to the credit of 
succeeding administrations, he holds to this day. 

In December, 1832, the horid monster of Nullifica- 
tien raised its head in South Carolina, and threatened 
to bite off" the head of the government. President Jack- 
son, who was always equal to every emergency, at 
once gave Captain Downing a Major's commission, and 
told him to take care of South Carolina, and drive Nul- 
lification into the Gulf of Mexico. No man under- 
stood the nature of Nullification, or how to cure it, bet- 
ter than Major Downing, as was abundantly proved in 
his celebrated account of carrying a raft of logs over 
Sebago pond. 

It appears, on receiving a major's commission, that 
Mr. Downing's military ambition was satisfied; for 
when the President afterwards desired him to take the 
appointment of colonel in the army, he declined, say- 
ing, he much preferred the title of Major. However, 
it mattered little what' his nominal rank might be, he 
was the master-spirit that sustained the administration 
of "the Gineral" in those trying times, and carried 
him safely through the storm of Nullification, the 
fight with the bank monster, and many other difficulties. 



20 JACK downing's letters. 

But we find this subject growing on our hands, and 
the father we go the more prolific it becomes. We did 
not sit down to write a biography of Major Downing — 
we trust that important work will be committed to abler 
and better hands — our object was mainly to throw a 
little light on the origin and progress of Downing lite- 
rature, and to correct certain errors which tradition had 
fallen into, and which were in danger of being per- 
petuated on the page of history. Suffice it to say here, 
that on receiving his commission and the orders from 
the President to " take care of South Carolina," Major 
Downing ordered his faithful cousin Sargeant Joel 
Downing, to repair immediately to Washington with 
his invincible Downingville company. 

Having drawn up his Downingville forces at Wash- 
ington, the major stood ready at a moment's warning to 
pounce upon S. Carolina the first instant that Nullifica- 
tion attempted to raise its head against the government ; 
and he used to mount upon the Capitol every day and 
listen to see if he could hear the guns cracking in 
South Carolina, for he said the President told him not 
to strike a single blow till South Carolina struck first. 

Luckily, however, Mr. Clay's Tariff" Bill put Nul- 
lification to sleep, and the Major never had to come to 
the scratch with the South Carolina monster. The 
next great movement of the Major was to accompany 
" the Gineral" on his famous tour " down east." In 
his letter to Cousin Ephraim, March 10, 1833, he in- 
forms him that a project of that kind was "a brewin" 
and says " the President talks of taking a journey down 
east this summer, and he wants me to go with him, be- 
cause I'm acquainted there, and can show him all 
about it. He has a great desire to go as far as Down- 
ingrille a,nd get acquainted with Uncle Joshua, who 



JACK downing's letters. 21 

has always stuck by him in all weathers through thick 
and thin. The President thinks that Uncle Joshua, 
is one of the republican pillars of New England, and 
and says he shall always have the post office of Down- 
ingville as long as he lives, and his children after 
him." 

April 20th, the Major writes to his old friend of the 
Portland Courier that the thing is all cut and dried, and 
he and the Gineral and the two cabinets are going to 
make a grand tour down east. There was one diffi- 
culty in the way which he describes as follows : 

" There is some trouble among us here a little, to know 
how we shall get along among the federalists when we 
come that way. They say the federalists in Massa- 
chusetts want to keep the President all to themselves 
when he comes there. But Mr. Van Buren says that'll 
never do ; he must stick to the democratic party ; he 
may shake hands with a federalist once in awhile if the 
democrats don't see him, but whenever there is any 
democrats round, he musn't look at a federalist. Mr. 
McLane and Mr. Livingston advise him t'other way. 
They tell him he'd better treat the federalists pretty 
civil, and shake hands with Mr. Webster as quick as 
he would with Uncle Joshua Downing. And when 
they give this advice Mr, Lewis and Mr. Kendall hop 
right up as mad as march hares, and tell him if he 
shakes hands with a single federalist while he is gone, 
the democratic party will be ruined. And then the 
President turns round to me, and asks me what he had 
better do. And I tell him that I guess he better go 
straight ahead, and keep a stiff upper lip, and shake 
hands with whoever he's a mind to." 

Early in June the the grand party got under way, 
and on the 10th the Major writes to his Uncle Joshua 



22 JACK DO\yXlN(j'S LETTERS. 

from Philadelphia, and tells him " we are coming on 
full chisel." After describing the journey as far as 
Philadelphia, the Major proceeds as follows : 

" They took us up into a great hall this morning as big 
as a meeting-house, and then the folks began to pour in 
by thousands to shake hands with the President ; fede- 
ralists and all, it made no difference. There was such 
a stream of em coming in that the hall was full in a 
few minutes, and it was so jammed up round the door 
that they couldn't get out again if they was to die. 
So they had to knock out some of the windows and go 
out t'other way." 

The President shook hands with all his might an 
hour or two, till he got so tired he couldn't hardly 
stand it. I took hold and shook for him once in awhile, 
to help him along ; but at last he got so tired he had to 
lay down on a soft bench covered with cloth, and shake 
as well as he could, and when he couldn't shake, he'd 
nod to em as they come along. And at last he got so 
beat out, he couldn't only wrinkle his forehead and wink. 
Then I kind of stood behind him and reached my arm 
round under his, and shook for him for about a half an 
hour as tight as I could spring. Then we conclud- 
ed it was best to adjourn for to-day. And I've made 
out to get away up into the garret in the tavern long 
enough to write this letter. We shall be off to-mor- 
row or next day for York, and if I can possibly get 
breathing time enough there, I shall write to you 
again." 

On the 13th of June, 1833, the party arrived in New 
York, and " got a ducking," by the breaking down of 
the bridge at Castle Garden. The Major here wrote again 
to his Uncle Joshua, giving a full account of the sad 



JACK downing's letters. 23 

catastrophe, in which nobody was killed and nobody 
hurt, except about fifty things they' called "dandies," 
which looked so after they got wet he couldn't tell 
whether they were dead or alive ; so they " pulled em 
out and laid em up on the grass to dry and left em." 

And here we come to an important point, an era in 
the Downing literature which requires special notice. 
It was now nearly three years and a half that Major 
Downing had been serving and enlightening his 
countrymen. In all that time his fame had steadily 
increased. His letters were copied into every paper 
all over the land, and his name was in every body's 
mouth. Next to General Jackson he was decidedly the 
most popular man in the United States. Perhaps no- 
thing is more calculated to excite a feeling of envy, 
than great popularity. The popular man is like the 
child who holds a nice stick of candy in his hand ; all 
the children around are on tiptoe to get a nibble. It is 
not strange therefore, that many in different parts of 
the country endeavored to get a taste of Major Down- 
ing's popularity by attempting to imitate his writings. 

But one individual at this time made a bold and sys- 
tematic rush at the Major, and attempted to strip his 
well-earned laurels from his brow and entwine them 
round his own head. This was a respectable mer- 
chant, a heavy iron dealer, in Broad street, New York. 
Violently seized with the mania a potu of literature, 
he sat down and wrote a Downing letter, giving an ac- 
count of the arrival of the Presidential party in New 
York, signed it with the Major's name, and published it 
in the old Daily Advertiser. 

As the letter of the genuine Major giving an account 
of the same affair, was sent to his Uncle Joshua through 



24 JACK downing's letters. 

the Portland Courier, it took several days for it to make 
the journey down east and back again. In the mean 
time the letter of the iron dealer made its appearance 
with Major Downing's signature, and was seized upon 
by the greedy multitude and passed about as the true 
coin. The thousands and tens of thousands who had 
been hurrahing for Major Downing for weeks and 
months, and some of them for years, of course raised 
their voices again as loud as ever. 

" God bless me !" said the Broad street merchant ; 
" why, I've electrified the world ! I had no idea I was 
such a great writer before. I must go into this busi- 
ness deep ; who cares for trade when he can get popu- 
larity and literary fame 1" 

Henceforth the Broad street merchant became a man 
of letters, and the iron business was turned over to the 
other members of the firm. For months afterwards he 
earnestly applied himself to writing Downing letters, 
and as he could always get them to the New York market 
before the letters of the true Major, who was riding about 
with the "Gineral," and sending his epistles through 
the Portland Courier, could arrive here, the merchant 
thought the run of the trade was all in his favor. And 
whenever the clouds in all parts of the country pealed 
forth the name of Major Downing, " God bless me !" 
said the merchant, " don't you hear my thunder !" 

But we are dilating too much for the object we pro- 
posed to ourselves on this occasion, and must jdraw to a 
close. Americus Vespucius filched the name of 
America, but Columhus discovered the country. It is the 
province of history to set these matters right. In No- 
vember, 1883, an enterprising and extensive publishing 
house in Boston, Messrs Lilly, Waite, Colman, and 



JACK DOWNING S LETTERS. 



25 



Holdeii, published a volume of the Major's letters with 
a brief sketch of his life, which had a very rapid and 
wide sale. This afforded another opportunity for the 
Broad street merchant to gather fresh laurels, and he 
accordingly had his letters collected and published in 
a volume in New York. 

These circumstances at the time were much com- 
mented upon by the papers of the Jay. We shall here 
quote a couple of paragraphs from the many that ap- 
peared, as applicable to our purpose. The following 
was the language of Major Noah's Evening Star. 

Major Jack Doivnmg turned author. — The letters which 
have "just been published in a neat duodecimo volume by Lilly, 
Waite, & Co., Boston, and which have obtained a circulation 
and celebrity more extended perhaps than any production tiiat 
ever issued from the American Press, are written with all the 
quaint simplicity of the style of Fielding, and abound in pas- 
sages of infinite drollery and exquisite humor. It would ap- 
pear that the Major since quitting the peaceful abode of the 
little village of Downingville and the company of Aunt 
Nabby and Uncle Joshua, has become quite dazzled with the 
splendor of our imperial court of Washington, and the inti- 
macy with the " Gin'ral" and other grandees of the " Kitchin 
Kabinety Pie now disdains any longer to grope in the ob- 
scure columns of a newspaper and comes forth accoutered in 
all the aristocratic armory of authorship, and we have no 
doubt from the imposing and formidable attitude in which he 
now appears, and the universal popularity of his writings, that 
he will achieve new triumphs in the reputation he has already 
acquired. 

About the same time, the National Gazette at Phila- 
delphia, then conducted by the distinguished Robert 
Walsh, bore the following high testimony. 

[From Walsh's National Gazette.] 
It has been the fate of all successful authors to have counter- 
feits, who deal with their originals as Hamlet says that some 
players imitate nature. The Rabelais, the Swifts, the Vol- 
taires, suffered in their day by the productions of interlopers 
of the sort. Mere bunglers attempted to personate them, 
and confounded the less discriminating or critical part of the 



26 JACK downing's letters. 

reading public. Major Jack Downing has paid in like man- 
ner the penalty of genius and popularity ; and he has com- 
plained of the hardship and injustice in a characteristic vein. 
We humbly advise him to write over the whole story of Pre- 
sident Jackson's late expedition. It might confidently be pre- 
dicted that a full narrative from his pen, duly authenticated, 
would obtain as much vogue in these United States, as did 
Peter Plymley's Letters in Great Britain." 

So great was the popularity of Major Downing dur- 
ing the " Gineral's" administration, that the artists all 
over the country were in a " terrible taking" to get a 
glimpse of him, so that they might make out some kind 
of a likeness. One of the most successful efforts of the 
artists for this purpose was described in the following 
communication published in the New York Journal of 
Commerce. 

[For the Journal of Commerce.] 
While in Boston, I visited the Athenaeum Gallery of paint- 
ings, and there I saw the portrait of the immortal Jack Down- 
ing, that wonderful traveller and commentator on the sayings 
and doings of our great men, the President's right-hand man, 
and the individual on whom it is said the learned fraternity at 
Cambridge conferred the title of A. S. S. which Jack says, 
being interpreted, means " Amazin Smart Skoller." Per- 
haps your readers might be interested in a brief description 
of the person of this singular genius, as represented by the 
portrait. It is said to be a phrenological head, of which the 
critics in Boston and elsewhere speak very highly. It is the 
production of Mr. Harris, a young artist in Portland, Me. 
Jack is about forty years old, thick set and stoutly built, — 
his features bold and strong, — complexion florid and healthy, — 
nose a little aquiline, — yellow hair, with a cow-lick on the top 
of the head. But his expression is inimitable. The whole 
face, in the words of the Boston Globe, " beams .with a char- 
acteristic expression and sly humor of a shrewd, thriving, 
and full blooded yankee. It is a sort of humanized Silenus, 
with a breadth and vividness of sensual roguery in the ex- 
pression of the mouth, which Rubens would have turned to 
good account in one of his Bachanalian groups." 

Jack Downing's letters first appeared in the Portland Daily 
Courier, about three years since, when he introduced himself 
as an honest farmer from Downingville, on a visit to Portland 



JACK DOWNING 'S LETTERS. 27 

for the purpose of selling a load of bean-poles ; but happening 
in at the Legislature tiien in session, he became interested — 
forgot his bean poles, commenced commenting on their pro- 
ceedings, (corresponding with " Uncle Joshua," " Cousin 
Ephrafm," " Aunt Nabb," and others,) and since that time 
has continued his letters, which have been as extensively 
copied, perhaps, as any correspond-'nce ever known. — The 
London papers are now republishing them. 

The portrait in the gallery represents him in the attitude of 
inditing one of his epistles,— with a copy of the Daily 
Courier lying beside him, and a full length engraving of " the 
President" before him. Since the appearance of the portrait 
in the gallery, there have been a number of other portraits 
and engravings got up purporting to be Major Downing, but 
these, I believe, are all a hoax. 

One of the most prominent shoots from the root of the 
Downing literature of the country, aside from the main 
tree, sprung up under the name of " Sam Slick." A 
year or two after Major Downing's letters began to ap- 
pear in the Portland Courier, the public attention was 
attracted by a clever little volume entitled " Sam 
Slick, the clockmaker," which afterwards proved to 
be from the pen of Judge Halliburton, of Novia Scotia. 
There was no plagiarism about this little volume ; it 
had a distinct character and a distinct name ; but its 
general features, air and manner, showed it to be a le- 
gitimate offspring of Downingism. Had Major Down- 
ing never written, the public never would have heard of 
Sam Slick. This reference is not intended as the least 
disparagement of Judge Halliburton, who acquired no 
small fame by his Clockmaker, and a widei reputation 
by the subsequent observations of Sam Slick in Eng- 
land. 

Our only object is to do a simple act of justice to our 
author, Major Downing, and to disabuse the public 
mind of certain errors and prejudices, by tracing out 
the origin and progress of Downing literature. We 



28 JACK downing's letters. 

might say much more, and we do not see how our duties 
could have permitted us to say less. Were we to follow 
the Major through his subsequent career to the close of 
the " Gineral's " administration, and his connection 
with the press, the Downing Gazette in Portland, the 
Bunker Hill in New York, and other periodicals, we 
should fill a volume. 

But our task is done. We drop the pen with entire 
confidence that truth is great and will prevail. In ages 
to come, and in all time, amid all the literary revolu- 
tions of the world, when critics shall be confounded 
and the nations delighted by the bursting forth of fresh 
streams of Downing literature, even then shall i-emote 
posterity look far back upon the page of history, beam- 
ing with the steady light of truth, and with grateful 
hearts and laughing eyes exclaim, " the great author 
and founder of the Downing school of literature was 
Major .lack Downing, of Downingville, away down east 
in the State of Maine." 

The Publishers. 



JACK DOWNING'S LETTEES. 



LETTER I. 

To Aunt Keziah Downing, wife of Uncle Joshua, Post- 
master of Downingville, away down East yi the State of 
Maine. 

New York, May 3, 1845. 

Dear Aunt: — I s'pose you begin to think by this 
time it's a good while since I writ to you ; but the 
truth is, any body might as well try to write a let- 
ter in a hornet's nest as to try to write one in New 
York any time for a month before the first of May, 
especially if they live in a hired house and expect 
to have to move when May-day comes round ; and 
that I take it is the case with jest about one half 
the New Yorkers about every year. It's an awful 
custom, and where it come from I can't find out ; 
but it has used me up worse than building forty 
rods of stone wall, or chopping down ten acres of 
trees. I haint had my clothes off for a week, and 
I haint had a quiet night's rest for a month ; and 
the way my bones have ached would be enough to 
make a horse cry his eyes out, 

I couldn't write anything to-day but about house- 
hunting and moving if I should try. Jest to give 
you a little insight into the common run of this ere 
business, I'll lay down some of the outlines of it 
before 1 undertake to tell you how we got through 
the scrape ourselves. There's two sorts of folks in 

(29) 



30 - JACK downin'g's letters. 

this city; and it's such an everlastin' great concern 
you may well suppose there's about as many as 
you could shake a stick at of both sorts. One sort 
is them that lets houses, and t'other sort is them 
that hires. They call 'em here, landlords and ten- 
ants. And the way they use each other up isn't 
slow, I can tell you. They have a regular war 
every year. The manuvering and twisting, and 
crowding, and quarrelling, begins to come on in 
February, and it grows hotter and hotter till the 
first day of May, when they have the great regular 
pitched battle. And then sich a rumpus, and sich 
a route I don't think the world ever see any where 
else. The children of Israel, that we read about 
in the Bible, going out of Egypt with their flocks 
and their little ones, v/asn't no touch to it. The 
landlords generally lead, because they have the 
most money to carry on the war ; but that don't 
discourage the tenants so but that they renew the 
fight again the next year as hard as ever. The 
tussle is all about the price of rents ; the landlords 
want to get 'em up higher, and the tenants want to 
get 'em down lower ; and when so many thousand 
of 'em on both sides fairly come to the scratch, 
they make hot work of it. 

The landlords have a way here sich as I don't 
think they have any where else in the world, of let- 
ting their houses for just exactly one year from the 
first day of May, twelve o'clock at noon. And 
they make the tenants hire the houses in February 
for the next year. And if they don't hire 'em then, 
and agree to pay what the landlord asks, be puts a 
handbill on to the house, saying '"this house to let," 
and the first day of May, at twelve o'clock, if the 
tenant isn't out, an officer goes and puts him into 
the street neck and heels, with his wife and children, 
and all his housen-stuff", whether they have any 
place to put their heads in or not — that is, if the 



JACK downing' S LETTERS. 81 

tenant has paid up his rent; if he hasn't, the land- 
lord nabs the housen-stufF and sells it at vandue. 

They build all sich great costly houses here, that 
nobody but smart folks that's got plenty of money 
can live in a whole house to themselves ; so com- 
mon sort of folks have to take parts of houses. 
We've been living most of the time since we've 
been here, in the third story of one of 'Squire 
Sharp's houses. 'Squire Sharp is a little black- 
eyed, slender, peaked-nosed man, that looks as 
though he might crawl through a square of seven 
by nine glass, if the glass was fairly out, and not 
squeeze him neither. Now most of the great rich 
folks, that own so many houses here, are large, fat, 
red-faced men, that ride about in their carriages 
most of the time, and when they walk look as 
though they'd step right over common folks' heads. 
They get most of their rents, because their tenants 
are so awful 'fraid of 'em, that they about as lieves 
die as not to pay 'em. But it aint so with 'Squire 
Sharp. Somehow, nobody don't seem to be afraid 
of him, and yet he don't loose hardly any of his 
rents. He's the keenest hand to make a bargain 
that ever I see, and he gets his rents by looking af- 
ter 'em ; he fairly dogs it out of his tenants ; and 
if any of 'em happen to give him the slip, he's as 
keen as a bloodhound to scent 'em out, and he'll 
follow 'em day and night till he gets it. He's as 
thin as a bed-post, and always looks as holler as if 
he hadn't eat any thing for a week. But he's a rich 
man for all that. He owns the whole block where 
we've been living, seven or eight great three story 
brick houses, besides ever so many more round the' 
city. 

We had two rooms and two bedrooms, as I said 
afore, in the third story.' Cousin Nabby and the 
two youngest children slept in one bedroom, and 
Jackv and Ichabod in t'other bedroom, and wife 



32 JACK downing's letters. 

and I in one of the large rooms. T'other room we 
had to cook and eat m. I paid eighty dollars a 
year rent. When I went to hire it, 1 wasn't dress- 
ed very slick, and 'Squire Sharp looked at me as 
much as five minutes, and eyed me from top to toe 
before he give me any answer. At last, says he, 

" Who's your security ?" 

Says I, " I never asked any body to be bonds- 
man for me yet in my life, and I shan't begin to- 
day, I guess." 

So 1 turned round and was going to clear out. 
But says he, 

"Stop, Mister! I don't know as it will make 
much odds ; for I always let them third stories 
payable weekly in advance ; and you can have it 
in that way for eighty dollars a year." 

As I couldn't do any better jest then, I concluded 
to take it ; so we moved in. Every Monday morn- 
ing for three weeks the 'Squire come round as 
regular as clock-work, and took his week's advance. 
But about the middle of the fourth week, which was 
the second or third day of February, he come in 
and says he, 

" Major Downing, I've come to see if you are go- 
ing to engage this tenement for the next year ?" 

•' Well, 'Squire," says I, " I guess I can tell you 
that better when this year is out. And besides, 
'Squire, you know I don't hire your house by the 
year ; I hire it by the week." 

" It isn't so," says he ; " you hire it by the year, 
and pay by the week." 

"But how can I hire by the year," says I, "when 
you told me, at the time 1 hired it, that you couldn't 
engage it only till the first of May ?" 

" Why," says he, " all our rent years begin the 
first of May, and I let it to you for the balance of 
the year. Now, if you are a mind to engage it for 
a year from the first of May, payable weekly in 



JACK DOWi:^l^^a i,^ leitiuis. 66 

advance, you can have it ; and I'll draw up the 
writings and have 'em fixed to-day." 

" But, 'Squire," says I, " now, how onreasonable 
that is! Only jest think of it: Here it is three months 
before the tirst of May, and who knows but what 
we may all be dead before that time ? And besides 
I may have some business to do somewhere else by 
that time, and shan't want to live here any longer. 
No, no, 'Squire ; let these three months run out, and 
then, if I want to stay here, and we can agree, I'll 
hire it again." 

At that the 'Squire colored up a little, and says 
he, "Major Downing, I can't do any sich thing. If 
you want the house next year, you must engage it 
now, and sign the papers ; if not, I shall put a bill 
on the house, * to let.' I can't break over any of 
our rules." 

•* Well," says I, " 'Squire, I never was drove yet 
by any man in my life, and I guess I shan't be to- 
day. You may do as you like ; but as for hiring a 
house before I know whether I shall want it or not, 
I shan't do no sich thing." 

At that the 'Squire cleared out and went off. The 
next morning I heard a little hammering on the side 
of the house, and I looked out, and there was the 
'Squire, nailing up a bill, with large letters on it, 
" THIS HOUSE TO LET." And I lookcd along, and I 
see there was jest sich a bill on every house in the 
block. Thinks I, what's to pay now? I guess some 
terrible overturn has happened to the 'Squire or his 
tenants, to break 'em all up in a heap so. I felt 
kind of uneasy about it ; so, after breakfast, I took 
my hat, and went out, and walked a mile or two 
about the city. And I soon found that whatever 
the troutle might be between the 'Squire and his 
tenants, the same trouble had spread all over the 
city ; for in every street I went through, it seemed 
to me one half the houses had bills on 'em, to let. 
3 



34 JACK downing's letters. 

Well, thinks I, I'm glad I didn't engage that house 
of 'Squire Sharp, for there's sich an everlastin' 
sight of houses to let now, it's a wonder to me if I 
don't find one pretty cheap. So I went home, and 
told Polly all New York was to let, and I guessed 
we should find a house next year cheap enough. 

I hadn't hardly got sot down after I come in, be- 
fore I heard a knock at the door ; and says I " come 
in." And in come a great, stout, fat, squaddy wo- 
man, and says she, " I see this tenement in the third 
story, is to let, and I jest want the privilege of look- 
ing at it a little to see if I can make it do for my 
family." 

"Certainly, marm," says I, for I always pride my- 
self in bein perlite to the ladies. " Polly, jest show 
the lady the rooms." So Polly went round to show 
her the house. 

" Which is the parlor ?" said the fat lady. 

" This is the fore-roomf said Polly ; " but we 
use it to sleep in as we are rather scant of room." 

" Oh, marcy," said the fat lady ; " how can any- 
body think of living without a parlor 1 It must be 
dreadful vulgar. Well, which is the kitchen ?" 

So Polly showed her the kitchen, though she was 
jest cooking dinner, and the dinner things was all 
round jest as it happened. I see Polly felt a little 
uneasy about it, and colored up when she asked to 
go into the kitchen, for you know, Aunt, that Polly, 
though I say it myself, was always as neat as wax- 
work, and never could bear to have anybody look 
into the kitchen unless everything was put up as 
neat as a pin. Howsomever, she opefied the door, 
and the fat lady marched in. 

'• Oh, marcy on us," said she, ""this'll never do for 
my family at all. There's no convenience about it; 
only one little stived up closet. Oh, it'll never do 
for me at all ; how can you get along with it ?" 

Polly told her it wasn't so handy as some kitchens, 
but we made out to do with it very well. 



JACK downing's letters. 35 

" Well" said she, " let me see the sleeping rooms." 
So Polly opened the bed-room doors ; and the 
fat lady lifted up her hands and declared she would 
as soon sleep in a pig's pen and done with it, as to 
go into sich little mean stived up places as them. 
Then she went back again into the kitchen, and 
looked into the closet, and examined the dishes of 
bread and butter, and cold meat that was left the 
day before, and said it was a shame for landlords 
to build sich ill-contrived houses. Then she took 
a chair and sot down, for she had talked so much 
she began to grow a little wheezy. At last she 
decla ed she wouldn't live in the house if they would 
give ii to her. I begun to get a little riled, and told 
her I g aessed she better not think of hiring it then, 
for I was pretty sure she would find it an awful 
tiresome business to go up and down three pair of 
stairs. At that she got up and went out, and slam- 
med the door tu prett^ hard after her, and never 
said boo to one of us. 

Well, this was only just the beginning of trouble, 
for arter that there was a steady stream of folks 
coming in to look at the house for about two 
months, commonly as much as five or six a day and 
sometimes more ; and you may guess a little from 
the account of the fat laa v what sort of a time we 
had of it. At last, about the first of April, I looked 
out one day and I see Squire 'Sharp come and take 
down the bill of third story to let. And though I 
knew then I should have to move, whether or no, 
I felt glad the bill was down, because it v^uld stop 
that everlasting stream of folks coming in and both- 
erin of us so every day, Polly began to grow un- 
easy now, because we hadn't got no house, and 
said I ought to go a house hunting jest as every bo- 
dy else did, or else we should be turned out of doors 
bime by. So I told her I'd go at it next day, and 
make a business of it, and follow it up till I got a . 



86 JACK downing's letters. 

house. Accordingly the next day I went at it, and 
I found it a pesky sight worse job than I expected. 
The bills wasn't near so thick as they was two or 
three weeks before ; but still I thought they was so 
plenty, there would be no trouble in finding a house. 
I went round the upper part of the city, because 
folks said rents was a good deal cheaper up there 
than down in town. At last I found part of a house 
that I thought looked as if it would do nicely ; and 
looked at the bill and it said inquire sich a number 
in Wall street. Well, I started off to Wall street, 
and after walking about two miles and a half I got 
there and found the place, and come to inquire the 
rent, it was two hundred and fifty dollars. I c juldn't 
afford to give more than eighty or a hundi ed dol- 
lars rent, so back I went to take another hunt. At 
last I found one that looked as though it might be 
a good deal cheaper, and I looked at the bill, and 
that said inquire at another number in Wall street. 
So I posted down agnin and found the place and 
inquired the rent. It was a hundred and fifty dol- 
lars. I was studying the matter over to see if it 
would do for me to think of giving so much, when 
the man asked me how much family I had. I told 
him there was myself and wife and cousin Nabby 
and six children. At that, says he, " We never let 
it to children ;" and he .hot the door and went in. 
So there I found I was up a tree again. I had got 
so tired by this time, and it had got to be towards 
night, tljjit I thought I v/ould give it up for a bad 
days work, and go home. When I got home I 
found Polly almost tired to death, for' she had felt ■ 
so uneasy for fear we should be turned out of doors 
bime by, that she had been out most all day house- 
hunting too. But she hadn't made out any better 
than I did. I told Polly she better stay at home 
and take care of the children, and not worry her- 
self about it, and Fd foller the business up till I got 



JACK downing's letters. 37 

a house at some rate or other. So the next morn- 
ing 1 started again, and I trampoosed the city from 
one end to 'tother, lengtirways, and crossways, and 
cornerways ; but I didn't make out any better than 
I did the day before. In the morning I would find 
a bill on a house that looked as if it might do, and 
come to read it, it would say, to be seen only from 
two to five in the afternoon ; and in the afternoon I 
would fiind a bill that would say, to be seen only 
from ten to twelve in the morning. And then again 
I would see a house that looked about right, and I 
would step up to the door and ask if I might look at 
it, and they would say, that they had so much 
trampling over the house they couldn't have any 
more of it, and shet the door and go in. Wherever 
I went I see the streets was full of folks house-hunt- 
ing, and half the time when I went to look at a bill, 
there would be so mai^y others bobbing up onto 
the steps before me that I would have to wait most 
half an hour before I could get a chance to read 
it. And when I did get up to it, as likely as 
not it would say, " This house to let to a small, gen- 
teel family, without children ;" so there I would be 
dished again. Once I stood on the steps, reading a 
bill, and there was a great, fat, greasy-faced wo- 
man stood right afore me, facing it, reading it tu. 
She was a cross, sour-looking thing, and looked as 
if she had lived on hog's fat all her'life — and I think 
it is pretty likely she had, for the city is full of hogs. 
You would see more hogs here, in walking the 
streets for half an hour, than you would see in 
Downinville ' for a whole year. Well, as I stood 
opposite that old grease spot, reading the bill, there 
come up sich a crowd behind me to read the bill 
tu, that they knocked my head right into her bon- 
net. By the gracious if my ears didn't ring again ! 
She slapped her great square hand against the side of 
my head so hard, it almost knocked me off the steps. 



38 JACK downing's letters. 

e 

" You saucy, good for nothing brute," says she? 
and her eyes were starting out of her head as big 
as an ox's eyes when he's drawing a heavy load — 
" haint you no more manners ?" says she, " set out 
to kiss me so, right here in the street tu, and afore 
all these folks ?" 

I told her upon my word and honor it was no 
sich thing. 'Twas the folks behind me that pushed 
me, and I hadn't the least thought in the world of 
kissing her. At that I thought she looked Grosser 
than she did afore, and I jumped off the steps and 
got away as fast as I could. I went home that 
night pretty well tired out, and most discouraged 
about finding a house. But I see Polly grew more 
uneasy ; so I started again next morning, and kept 
it up right and tight every day for pretty near a 
fortnight, till I got the bottoms of my shoes all wore 
off. Then I stopped one day and got 'em tapped 
and rested upon 't, and then I went at it again. At 
last, in the course of my travels, I found three 
houses that I thought might do, if I couldn't do any 
better. But the rents was a little too high. They 
asked me S$90 to $100 a-piece for 'em. I thought 
they hadn't ought to be more than $80. And folks 
told me that them that didn't let their houses till 
about the first of May would have to put their rents 
down. So I concluded to watch these 'ere three 
houses, and hold 'on till the last day of April. One 
was way over towards the North River, pretty 
well up tiwn, on a cross street leading out of Green- 
wich street. Two rooms and two b.edrooms, on 
the second floor. The next was away over 'tother 
way, beyond the Bowery, towards the East River, 
and pretty well up towards the Dry Dock. One 
room in the basement, three in the third story, and 
one in the attic, if wanted. But the basement was 
awful wet. 'Tother one was away up the Third 
avenue, not far from the Alms House. It took me 



JACK downing's letters. 39 

about half the day, every day for a fortnight, to go 
round to these three houses and see that the bills 
were still on. For I thought as long as I could have 
my choice of the three I was safe. Well, when it 
come to be the last day of April, I thought it was 
time to bring matters to a close. So in the course 
of the forenoon I walked away up to the Third ave- 
nue ; that house being a little the cheapest rent I 
thought on the whole, bein times was very dull, I 
better take that. They asked ninety-five dollars, 
but would take ninety for a good tenant. I walk- 
ed along, thinking I'd try 'em pretty hard for eigh- 
ty dollars ; and if I couldn't get it for that, I'd offer 
'em eighty-five ; and if they wouldn't let it for that, 
I'd take it for ninety. 

At last I came in sight of the house, and looked, 
but I couldn't see no bill on it. I went up and ask- 
ed if the house was let, and they said yes, it was let 
about an hour ago. I turned about and quickened 
my steps, and walked away down towards the East 
River house, and thought I'd take it right oif, if I 
had to give as much as ninety-five dollars for it. 
Or even I didn't know as I should stick at a hun- 
dred. When I got in sight of that house, the bill 
was off of that too. This made me feel a little 
streaked, and the sweat started out on my forehead 
pretty fast. I stepped up and asked them if the 
house was let. They said yes, it was let that 
morning, and they could a let two or three more 
jest like it if they'd had 'em. I begun to be afraid 
now I'd got into rather a bad box. I didn't dare 
to go home and tell Polly how things looked ; and 
as it was now but little arter noon, I thought I'd run 
round two or three streets, and see if I couldn't 
hunt up some houses. So 1 pulled foot, and hunted 
and sweat, till I got so tired I couldn't but jest 
stand. There was a good many bills up, but some- 
how I couldn't find any that would seem to do. 



40 JACK DOWKINd'S LETTERS. 

They was all too high rent, or they wouldn't take 
children, or something or other was in the way. I 
felt pretty bad. So I thought I'd go home and tell 
Polly the worst on't, and go up and see if the Green- 
wich house was gone too. When I come to tell 
her about it, she showed a little dander. 

" Now, Jack," says she, " if you have delayed so 
long that we've lost the chance of getting a house, 
and have to be turned out of doors to-morrow, I 
shall lay it all to you, every bit of it. I must say 
you might a known better." 

Now Polly doesn't hardly ever give me a hard 
word, and come to have this from her, poured right 
on top of the trouble I was in about a house, made 
me feel bad, aunt Keziah, I can tell you. But I told 
Polly, frettin wouldn't help the matter a bit, and if 
she'd give me a mouthful of bread and butter, I'd 
go and try once more. At that she come tu a lit- 
tle, and sot on some bread and butter, and then we 
started off together. We went all round over the 
place they call Greenwich village, though if I was 
to die I couldn't tell it from the city ; but we didn't 
find a single house or part of a house that would 
seem to do, till we got up to a cross street, where 
the house was that I'd picked out afore. As soon 
as we turned round the corner, and come in sight 
of that are house, I looked and the bill was on. If 
I'd a had a half a ton weight took oif my shoulders 
I couldn't a felt lighter than I did that minit. It 
was about sunset, and the last day of April. The 
old folks that owned the house, and liv^d in the 
lower part of it, were standing out on the steps and 
looking very wistfully, first up the street and then 
down the street, and I knew by their looks they felt 
as if it was their last chance, for if they didn't let it 
that night, may be they wouldn't let it for the whole 
year. I give Polly's arm a jerk, and whispered to 
her, and says I, " Now do you keep still as a mouse 



JACK downing's letters. 41 

and not appear as though we wanted a house much, 
and I'll get that house tor lower rent yet." 

We walked along up in a careless kind of a way, 
as if we wasn't looking for any thing. Then we 
stopped a little and looked up to the house, and 
says I, 

" Mister, you've got to let your house lay over 
this year, haven't you ?" 

" Well," says he, " I don't know ; the man that 
talked of taking it hasn't come yet ; but he may be 
here this evening." 

" Well, Mister," says I, " what'll you take for 
them rooms in the second story I" 

" Aint you suited yet f says he, eyeing us very 
sharp, and stepping down oft" the steps. 

** Not exactly," says 1. *' If I could get your 
house low enough, I don't know but I might take 
it." 

" Well," says he, " I've calculated to get a hun- 
dred dollars for it ; but bein it's getting late I'll let 
it go for ninety." 

I told him I couldn't give that, but if he'd a mind 
to let it go for seventy Yd take it. He said he 
couldn't think of that ; though he didn't know, for 
a good tenant and good security, he might say 
eighty, to a quiet family without children. 

At that, Polly couldn't help putting in a word in 
spite of all I'd said to her ; and says she, 

" I should like to know how the New Yorkers 
expects folks to get along in this world without 
children." 

" Ah, then you have children," said the old gen- 
tleman, changing his manner in a moment. " Well, 
there's a great difference in children. Some fami- 
lies keep 'em very quiet, while in others they are 
desput troublesome. I dare say you keep yourn in 
good order." 

" Well," says I, " I must be agoin ; I can't think 



42 JACK downing's letters. 

of paying eighty dollars." And I began to edge 
along a little. 

" Mister," says he, " if you take the house, what 
kind of security will you give me ?" 

" Oh," says I, " I'll pay the rent every week in 
advance, if you want it. But I can't give eighty 
dollars." 

" Well," says he, "you may have it for seventy- 
five, and that's the lowest." 

" rU^take it," says I, "and here's a silver dollar 
to bind the bargain till I move in." 

At that the old man took down the bill, and Polly 
and I turned to go home to get ready for the great 
battle the next day. 

And now, Dear Aunt Keziah, I've got to break 
right off short, for the printer says I've spun my 
yarn out so long he can't wait for any more. But 
I'll try to give you an account of the moving in my 
next letter. Give my love to Uncle Joshua, and I 
remain your loving nephew. 

Major Jack Downing. 



LETTER II. 

To Aunt Keziah Downing, wife of Uncle Joshua, of Down- 
ingville, Maine. 

New-York, May 5th, 1845. 
Dear Aunt : — In my last letter, I told you some- 
thing about house-hunting in New- York, and the 
terrible bother landlords and tenants get into every 
spring ; but the story was so long I had to break 
off before I said half what I wanted to. And now 



JACK downing's letters. 43 

I am going to try to tell you something about moving 
day. Oh, of all the days in this 'ere world, and I've 
seen a good many kinds of days in my life-time — 
I've seen trainin' days, and muster days, and inde- 
pendent days, and when I lived in Washington 
along with General Jackson, bless the dear old 
man ! we used to have Christmas and New- Year's 
days ; but of all the days that ever I did see in this 
'ere world, moving-day in New-York is the cap- 
sheaf. It is no more like the May-days we used to 
have in Downingville, than a toad under a harrow 
is like a man on horseback. You know what good, 
pleasant times we used to have when the first day 
of May come round in Downingville, how every- 
thing in the house was all slicked up a day or two 
beforehand as neat as a pin, and the things in every 
room all sot to rights, and the children's faces all 
washed, and their heads combed, and their clean 
clothes all ready for 'em to put on. And then, 
about sunrise May morning, what a scampering 
there was among the children ! They'd come dart- 
ing out of all the houses like flocks of new butter- 
flies, all dressed up as neat as pinks, and their eyes 
glistening and shining like glass buttons. And away 
they'd fly in whole swarms across the fields, and up 
on the hills, and away in the w^oods ; and when they 
come back to breakfast you couldn't tell which was 
the reddest, their cheeks or the bunches of flowers 
they had in their hands. And every part of Down- 
ingville all day would smell as sweet as a rose. 

But 'taint so in New-York, aunt Keziah, not by a 
jug-full. Everything here on a May-day looks 
amazin' difterent, and smells amazin' different, I can 
tell you. But I'll try and see if I can give you some 
little notion of it. To begin where 1 left off' in my 
last letter : When I got through making a bargain 
with old Mr. Johnson, that's the name of the man I 
hired the house of — when I got through, and the old 



44 JACK downing's letters. 

man took the bill down off the house, and I felt sure 
at last that we'd got a house to go into next day, 
and shouldn't have to be turned out of doors, Polly 
and I turned about to go home, a good deal lighter- 
hearted than we had been before for a fortnight. It 
was jest beginning to grow dark a little, and we 
had a considerable ways to go, round ever so many 
corners, and through a good many streets ; but 
don't you think there were so many lights it was 
jest as easy going as it would be in the day time. 
In all the streets there was long rows of lamps lit 
on both sides of the streets as fur as you could see ; 
and you might go round miles and miles, and turn 
which way you would, you couldn't see no end to 
lamps. I'll say that for New-York, it's a good 
deal easier gettmg about here in the night time than 
it is in Downingville. 

Well, Polly and I jogged along towards home, 
but we hadn't gone a great ways before we begun 
to see other great lights in the streets than lamps ; 
and they begun to grow thicker and thicker in all 
the streets — great blazing fires, as big as we used 
to have in the fields when we were burning oflf 
brush in the spring. What under the sun can all 
these fires mean ? says I. I begun to be afraid the 
tenants had come off so bad in the battle with the 
landlords this time, that they might be layin' a plan 
to burn up the whole city at once. But Polly said 
she didn't believe but what they'd begun to turn 
them folks that hadn't got no houses into the streets 
already, and they was building up fires to stay by 
in the night. Poor critters ! says she, how I do 
pity 'em ! for I know that's what it is. I told her 
no, she might depend upon't, 'twasn't the rule to 
turn 'em out till next day at twelve o'clock precisely. 

By this time we got along into a shabby looking 
street, chock full of hogs and boys, and you couldn't 
hardly tell which looked the cleanest, or behaved 



JACK downing's letters. 45 

the best, the hogs or the boys — nor hardly which 
was the thickest. Here we come along to one of 
these ere great fires, and stopt a few minutes to 
look at it. There was fifty boys round it, poking 
it with sticks, and hollering and screaming like bed- 
lam. At last, says I to a little boy that stood near 
me — 

" My lad, what's the meaning of all these ere 
great fires about the streets to-night ?" 

" Nothing," says he, " only jest burning up the 
old straw." 

" What old straw ?" says I. 

" Why, the old beds," says he ; " every body 
burns up the old straw to night." 

" But," says I, " If every body burns up their 
beds to-night, what '11 they do to sleep on to-mor- 
row night i" 

"Oh," says he, "they can get enough more to 
the flour and feed stores to-morrow." 

At that all the other boys, that had been a looking 
and listening to hear what we said, sot up such a 
giggling and a hurraying, it fairly made some of the 
four-legged pigs snort and run. And then one lit- 
tle sassy rascal come up within about ten foot of 
me, and stood and put his thumb up agin the side 
of his nose, and looked up with an awful sassy look 
at me, and hollered out, " ain't yo green ?" And 
then he pulled foot and run for fear I should be arter 
him. But I didn't mind nothin' about him, though 
the boys all lafFed again as if they'd split. Bime- 
by out came a couple of dirty looking gals from a 
dirty looking house, lugging along a straw bed, 
and emptied it on to the tire. 

" Whorah," said the boys, as they run with their 
sticks and poked the straw into the fire — " Who- 
rah ; now for roast bed-bugs and fleas. Hark, 
only hear the flees roar ; and them bed-bugs crack 
and snap like burning hemlock." 



46 JACK downing's letters. 

" Hold your tongues, you sassy brutes," said the 
gals. 

At that the boys took arter 'em full chisel with 
handfuUs of burning straw, and the gals run as if a 
catamount had been arter 'em till they got into the 
house. 

Polly give my arm a jerk, and begged of me to 
make haste out of the street. We jogged along 
again towards home, and we didn't get into any 
other street quite so bad as that, though we went 
through a number that didn't smell any too sweet, 
I can tell you. At last we got home and found 
cousin Nabby most out of patience waiting for us ; 
she'd had supper ready an hour, and the youngest 
children was very tired and fretty. So we sot 
down to supper, and before we 'd got half through^ 
somebody knocked at the door. 

" Come in," says I. And the door opened, and 
in came an Irishman with a basket full of dishes, as 
much as he could lug. And says he, "Plase yer 
honor." 

You know, aunt Keziah, how queer these ere 
Irishmen talk ; it's enough to make a body lafF till 
his sides aches to hear em talk so broad and un- 
grammatical. 

" Plase yer honor," says he, " mistress Pinkham 
wants to know if ye'll be so kind as to be after 
obleeging her so much as to do her a little kindness 
jest to let her reposite a few things in one of your 
rooms to-night. It 'ill be very convaniant for her 
indade." 

" Who is Miss Pinkham ?" says I. 

" It's the lady that's rinted this tinement, yer 
honor," says he, " and it '11 be very convaniant for 
her, if you'll allow her." 

" Oh, yes," says I, "I'm always glad to do a lady 
a favor if I can ; you may set 'em into the fore 
room there an' welcome." 



JACK downing's letters. 47 

Before he'd got 'em half took out of the basket, 
n come another chap, luggin four chairs. And then 
followed a boy with a dish kettle in one hand, filled 
up with a mess of little things, and the shovel and 
tongs in 'tother. Then in comes a little gal with a 
looking glass, and brought it along to Polly, and 
says she, 

" Ma wants you to set this away very careful, for 
she wouldn't have it broke for anything in the 
world, 'twould be sich a bad sign," 

So Polly got up and took the glass and hung it on 
a nail by the side of ourn. By the time we'd done 
supper, all hands had been back, and came lugging 
in another load, and piled it up in the fore-room. 
And the little girl said, " Ma would come round 
bime by and see about stoin it away." And back 
they all went for another load. I see that Polly 
and cousin Nabby begun to feel a little nettled ; 
but I told them 'twasn't best to mind it : we should 
be off to-morrow, and we could put up with a little 
trouble for one night, jest for the sake of doin a 
kindness. 

Presently in they come again with as much as 
they could lug, of all sorts of housen-stuff that you 
could think on. And at last Miss Pinkham herself 
come puffin and blowin up three pair of stairs, and 
come boltin into the kitchen where we was all set- 
ting ; and who should it be but that same great fat 
lady that I told about in my last letter, come to ex- 
amine the rooms the first day the bill was up in 
February. I didn't feel over and above good na- 
turcd when I come to see who she was. Polly 
looked as though she felt a little wiry, and cousin 
Nabby looked as red as a flash. I'm commonly 
pretty plain-spoken, you know, ant ; so says I, 

" Miss Pinkham, have you hired these ere 
rooms ?" 

" Yes," says she, " Fve rented 'em for a year." 



45 JACK DOWNING S LETTERS. 

" Well," says I, " what did 'Squire Sharp give 
Vou to take 'em ?" 

" Do you mean," says she, " what rent I pay for 
em V 

" No," says I, " what does 'Squire Sharp give 
you to take 'em ?" 

" Well," says she, " I don't understand sich a 
question as that ; so you may as well leave off your 
jokes." 

" But when you was here lookin at these ere 
rooms, last February," says I, " you said you 
wouldn't live in 'em if any body'd give 'em to you." 

" Well," says she, " I thought I shouldn't like 'em 
very well at first ; but on the whole I think it's 
quite a nice place — the rooms are so snug and gen- 
teel." 

" Why, yes," says I, " I think it quite a good place 
for eighty dollars." 

" Eighty dollars !" says she, " I hope you don't 
think I give eighty dollars for it. I know how to 
work Squire Sharp better than that. I run it down 
to him to the lowest notch ; told him there wasn't 
a single convenience about it ; only one little stiv- 
ed up closet, and 'twas all up and down stairs, and 
I didn't believe he could hardly hire a decent family 
to live there. I offered him fifty dollars, and stuck 
to it about two months, and he stuck to eighty, and 
said he wouldn't take a penny less. But at last this 
morning, I asked him if he was going to let me 
have the rooms for fifty dollars ; if not I was going 
right off to take another house that I had had the 
offer of a great deal cheaper. At that h6 looked as 
if he'd bite a board nail off, and says he, if you're a 
mind to give me sixty dollars you may have it, and 
that's the lowest. Nobody shall have it for less 
than that if I have to shut it up for a whole year. 
Well I told him I'd take it ; so I got it for sixty dol- 
lars, and glad enough was I, for I'd made up my 



JACK BO'^'XTXa's: LETTERS. 49 

mind to give eighty if I couldn't get it for no less. 
And now if you'll jest let me stow away a few- 
things here to-night, it'll be a great convenience to 
me. It's sich an awful job to move May-day, I 
want to get clear of as much of it as I can." 

You know, I'm one of those sort of folks, if any 
body asks a favor of me, I can't never refuse, so I 
told her yes, she might stow in what she'd a mind 
to. But' I didn't s'pose she was going to bring in 
much more, for they'd got our fore room piled up 
so full then that we couldn't hardly get across it to 
go to bed. You know Polly and I had our bed in 
the fore-room, because we hadn't ony two sleepin 
rooms, and cousin Nabby and the two youngest 
children slept in one, and Jacky and Ichabod in 
'tother. So I thought of course she wouldn't bring 
in nothin more that night, ony put to rights a little 
what was already there, bein it was getting pretty 
late in the evening. But I was mistaken, for we 
hadn't hardly done talking, when her regiment of 
Irishmen and boys and gals come clattering up the 
stairs again with loads of barrels and bedsteads, 
and pots and kettles, and washstands, and chairs, 
and baskets of tin dishes, and I don't know what 
all. Poor Polly began to look a little streaked, and 
I thought myself it was crowd in a little too hard. 
So I told Miss Pinkham I thought she better let the 
rest be till mornin, for if they brought in much more 
we should all get mixed up so bime by, 'twould be 
difficult to pick our things out when we came to 
move. But she said, O no, she'd help to do all 
that ; and 'twould be so very convenient for her to 
bring in a few more things to-night ; and 'twouldn't 
be any trouble to us at all. And then she turns 
round to her company, and says she, ' Come, boys 
and gals, make haste back and bring in some more 
as fast as you can." 

Then she went along to our bed and felt of it. 



50 JACK downing's lettees. 

and says she, " Oh, marcy, you havn't carried out 
your straw yet ; I hope you aint a goin to leave 
that till to-morrow ; 'twill clutter the house all up 
when we shall want to be a setting up our things. 
Do pray carry it out to-night ; there's fires enough 
in the street now." 

At that Polly said she guessed I better carry it 
out, as she sposed 't was the custom for every body 
to do it. So at it I went and carried down the 
straw beds, and lugged them off a few rods to one 
of the fires, and emptied 'em out. As I turned 
round the corner by tother end of our block, there 
was a couple of men walked before me, talking to- 
gether, and I knew in a minute one of em was 
'Squire Sharp's voice. T'other one was a short fat 
gentleman, that seemed to be in a good deal of a 
pet because he couldn't let his houses. 

" What, havn't you let yourn yet," says the 
Squire. 

" No," says the fat gentleman, " I've got six good 
houses now that aint let, besides several parts.- — 
Hang the housen, and tenants too. I wish I didn't 
own one. If all my property was in bank stock, or 
something else, that would bring me four per cent. 
I should be glad." 

" Well," says 'Squire Sharp, " I always make it 
a pint to let all my tenements before the first oi 
May, whether or no. If I can't get one price I take 
another ; and I makes all my houses net me eight 
per cent, good." 

Thinks I, Mr. fat gentleman, if you was as lean 
as 'Squire Sharp is, and looked after your houses 
as close, you'd get eight per cent, too. 

" I always think it's the best way," says 'Squire 
Sharp, " to let 'em at all events before the first ol 
May, and get what you can. And then be sure and 
look arter the rents and not loose 'em. I didn't let 
my last tenement till this morning. I always asked 



JACK downing's letters. 51 

* 

eighty dollars for it; but I let it go for sixty. And 
if the woman had sot out to a gone away without 
taking of it, I should a let her had it for fifty. But 
the main thing is to collect your rent, after all, I 
don't think I've lost fifty dollars of my rent these five 
years." 

" Zounds," said the fat gentleman," I've lost more 
than three thousand during that time. But I'm de- 
termined to look after em more close in future. 
Now I think on't there's Miss Pinkham owes me 
more than two quarters I'ent now ; and I'll nab 
her furniture the first thing to-morrow morning 
arter breakfast ; for I've been told she's a little 
slippery about rents." 

" She's the very woman," says the Squire, " that 
took my tenement this morning. But I'm safe, for 
I make her pay weekly in advance. That's the 
way I serve all my tenants that I aint sure about." 

" Well," said the fat gentleman, " I guess you'll 
have to let your rooms to somebody else arter alJ ; 
for I'm determined to stop Miss Pinkham's furniture 
to-morrow morning, the first thing arter breakfast." 

At that I couldn't help lafihn in my sleeve a 
little, for I thought I could begin to see how the cat 
was jumpin'. And thinks I, Mr. fat gentleman, I 
guess you aint in the habit of getting up any too 
early in the morning; and I shouldn't be afraid to 
wage a large potato you wont be up in time to nab 
that are housen-stuff of Miss Pinkham's arter all. 
By this time I'd got out of their hearing, and they 
went along, and I went home. When I went up 
stairs, I found they'd got the floor of the fore room 
all covered with housen-stuff", from one to two feet 
deep, and had begun to pile it up round the kitchen : 
and Miss Pinkham was hurrying her boys and gals 
and her stout Irishman to make haste and bring in 
as fast as they could. And they kept it agoin right 
and tight till about midnight, and then I could see 



52 JACK downing's letters. 

« 

by the tag ends of all sorts of matters and things 
that begun to come along, that they was about 
winding up the business. 

Polly is naterally very kind, you know, and hates 
to hurt any body's feelings, or disappoint 'em if she 
can help it ; so she tried to put up with it the best 
way she could. But she begun to grow most heart- 
sick about it ; for you know how neat Polly always 
keeps everything about her house, and a good deal 
of Miss Pinkham's truck that they'd piled about our 
fore- room and kitchen was dirty enough to turn a 
dog's stomach. And there we'd got to sleep right 
among it till next morning. But still Polly didn't 
make no complaints, though I see she felt bad 
enough. Cousin Nabby had got tired and gone to 
bed with the two youngest children about ten 
o'clock. Jacky and Ichabod had kept their eyes 
wide open till eleven, and then they begun to nod 
about and fall over the housen-stuff, so we sent 
them off to bed in 'tother bed-room. And now 
the clock had struck midnight, and Polly and I 
grew very tired and sleepy, and hoped Miss Pink- 
ham and her boys and gals would clear out and let 
us have a little chance to rest afore morning. But 
when they got through bringing up their truck, the 
Irishman stepped up to her and asked for his 
pay. She told him to call the next day. But he 
said no, he was to have his pay as soon as his work 
was done. She told him he seemed to be dreadful 
fraid of losing two shillings ; but she shouldn't pay 
him till next day at any rate. He said it wasn't 
two shillings ; he was to have half a dollar, and he 
was to have his pay that night, and he would have 
it, and he wouldn't go away without it, at all, at all. 

At that she ketched up a chair and told him " if 
he didn't get down stairs in a minit she'd beat his 
brains out, a good-for-nothin' imperdent brute." 

And down the feller run as if he'd break his neck, 



JACK downing's letters. 53 

and whether he's got his half dollar yet I don't 
know. Polly looked as if she'd faint away, but I 
told her I'd seen worse squalls than that, when I 
used to live to Washington, with Gineral Jackson. 

" Now we've got all our things here," says Miss 
Pinkham, " I guess we'll spread down the carpet, 
and some rugs and bedclothes, and sleep here in 
the kitchen to-night, for I wouldn't disturb you in 
'tother room where you sleep, on no account. I'm 
one of them sort of folks that always hates to 
trouble a body." At that she began to haul the 
dusty things about, to make up a bed on the kitchen 
floor. I told her, any way she'd a mind to fix it, 
if she'd only get quiet pretty soon, so we might get 
a little rest afore daylight. 

" But where be I goin to sleep, mother ?" says her 
great lubberly boy, that had been fetchin' up housen- 
stufF all the evening. " I aint agoin' to sleep here 
on the floor long with you and the gals I guess." 

"Well, Jimmy," says Miss Pinkham, " I guess 
Miss Downing will let you sleep in the bed-room 
long with her two little boys. But you must mind 
and not wake 'em up so as to be a trouble ; I hate 
to be a trouble to any body." 

Polly looked as if she'd die ; but she began to 
be so afraid of Miss Pinkham after she took up the 
chair to the Irishman, that if she'd ask'd for our 
bed, I don't think but what she would agm it right 
up to her, and slept on the floor ourselves, I thought 
I wouldn't interfere about it, for I knew there would 
be a fuss if I did, and I thought it was high tiuie 
we all of us had a little rest. 

So Jimmy went off* to bed, in the bed-room, and 
Miss Pinkham and her two gals camped down on 
the kitchen floor, and Polly and I clambered along 
as well as we could over the heaps of housen-stutf 
to our bed in the fore-room. Arter we'd laid about 
an hour, and I begun to feel kind of drowsy, and 



6:4 JACK DOWNma'S LETTERS. 

thought I should get a nap, I heard a rumpus in 
the kitchen. And bimeby I heard Miss Pinkham 
thumping away at the bed-room door, and calUng 
Jimmy. He didn't answer till she went clear in 
and give him a shake, and says she, 

" Jimmy, you didn't bring that grid-iron and 
poker, that stood in the cellar-way, now." 

"Yes, I did," says he, " I brought it myself." 

" No you didn't," says she, " for I haint seen no- 
thin of it." 

" I did bring it," says he, " and put it into a barrel 
behind the door in the fore-room." 

" You sure 1" sa5''s she. 

" Yes I am sure ; I remember." 

" I don't believe a word on't," says she, " but I'll 
knov/." 

So, in she come, bolting into our room, and fum- 
bled and clambered along in the dark, till she got 
to the barrel behind the door, and felt in it, and 
says she, 

"Well, I declare, 'tis here arter all. Jimmy has 
an excellent memory." 

In climbing back again, over the housen-stufF, 
somehow or other she stumbled, headlong among 
the bedsteads and barrels, and screamed out, 

" Oh dear, I've half broke my head ; Miss Down- 
ing, have you got any camfire ?" 

There, ant Keziah, I've got to break right off 
short again before I get through the story about 
the movin, for the printer says he can't stand no 
longer yarn to-day. But I'll sartinly give you the 
upshot on't about movin day in my next. 

So I remain your loving nephew. 

Major Jack Downing. 



JACK downing's letters. 55 



LETTER III. 

To Aunt Keziah Downing, wife of Uncle Joshua, of Down- 
ing villa, Maine. 

THE UPSHOT OF THE STORY ABOUT MOVING. 

New York, May 8, 1845. 

Dear Aunt Keziah, — -As I was a saying in my 
last letter, Miss Pinkham tumbled headforemost 
among the barrels and bedsteads, and heaps o' 
things in our fore-room, and screamed out, " Oh 
dear, Miss Downing, have you got any camfire ? 
oh, I'm half killed." 

At that, Polly sprung out of bed like a shot. 
There's no body has more feelin' for a fellow- 
creeter than Polly has, tho' I say it iinyself ; and 
the way she runs when she sees anybody in dis- 
tress is a caution, I can tell yc, to all the chairs and 
barrels and bed-posts that stand in the way. Polly 
was kind of half awake and half asleep : I don't 
think she'd fairly got her eyes open, and if she had 
it wouldn't a made much odds, for it was dark as 
Egypt. And being waked all of a sudden right 
out of a sound sleep, for she'd got to sleep, thoup-h 
I hadn't, she'd forgot all about the trumpery that 
was piled about the room, and startin' off the bed 
like a stream of lightning, the first thing that brought 
her up was a basket of Miss Pinkham's crockery 
stuff. She pitched right over it and went sprawl- 
ing on to the floor ; and the tea-cups and the mugs 
and the pitchers flew as if they'd been struck with 
a thunder squall. At that, Miss Pinkham bawled 
out again, and by the sound I knew she was up 'n 
eend and climbled over the barrels ; and says she, 

" Now, Miss Downing, what have you done ? If 
you've broke my new blue set, you'll wish you 
hadn't I can tell ye." 



56 JACK downinq's letters. 

Polly didn't make no answer, but only groaned ; 
and I knew in a minute she was hurt pretty bad ; 
so I thought it was time for me to begin to muster. 
I got out of bed as careful as I could, and went 
feelin' my way along into the kitchen, and at last I 
found a loco-foco match and lit a candle. 

" Don't bring that light here," says Miss Pinkham 
says she, " 'till you hand me my gownd." 

Says I, "I don't know nothin' about your gownd, 
nor I can't stop to look for't now." So I threw a 
blanket to her, and told her she might rap herself 
up in that. I found Polly wasn't hurt quite so bad 
as I was afraid she was. She had bruised one of 
her arms considerable, and struck the side of her 
head pretty hard when she fell. But she soon be- 
gun to get over it, and said she guessed she wasn't 
hurt much. 

Miss Pinkham took on as bad as ever, and said 
she should die if she didn't have some camfire to 
put on her head ; and she dim along over the things 
and threw herself right on to our bed. 

"Poor creetur," says Polly, " vv^e must do some- 
thing for her as quick as we can. Do, Jack, hand 
me that bottle of camfire on the upper shelf in the 
closet." 

So I went and got the camfire and Polly sot to 
and rubbed the old lady's head about a quarter of 
an hour, and she got to sleep and lay and snored 
like a boss. I told Polly I guessed she better lay 
down aside of her and try to get some sleep tu, 
and I'd set up the rest of the night and be ready 
airly in the morning to go to packing up. But 
Polly said she was afraid of disturbin' of her. so 
she laid down on the rugs in the kitchen to rest her 
and get a little nap. I knew there wasn't no more 
sleep for me that night ; so arter Polly got to sleep 
I concluded to go out and take a run ; for I always 
found that was the best way to keep my eyes open 



JACK downing's letters. 57 

when there wasn't no chance to sleep. The long 
rows of lamps was still burning by the sides of the 
streets, and I walked round and round from one 
street to another, till it got to be daylight, and then 
1 turned to go home, for I meant to be driven busi- 
ness pretty airly. 

When I got along within two or three streets of 
home, there was a couple men turned the corner 
right afore me, and I walked along arter 'em. 
Pretty soon I saw one of 'em was that short, stout, 
fat landlord that I see the night afore talking with 
'Squire Sharp. And says he to the man that was 
with him, 

" You've got your warrant, haint ye ?" 

"Yes," says the other, who I begun to think by 
this time, was a constable or some kind of an offi- 
cer, for he carried a great, heavy cane in his hand, 
and looked kind of savage-like. 

" Well," says the stout landlord, " you must take 
every single thing there is in the house, and hold 
on to it, and if they don't settle the rent, we'll sell 
'em at vendue to-morrow. Here's the house ; now 
do your duty. I'll stand here on the steps till you 
get fairly in and take possession." 

At that, thinks I, I'll stop a little and see what's 
going on here. I stood over on t'other side of the 
street, but it was so still I could hear all they said, 
for it was so airly in the morning there wasn't but 
very few folks a stirrin'. The officer stepped up 
to the door and rung the bell. He waited a minute 
and nobody didn't come, and then he rung again. 
Nobody didn't come that time, and then he rung 
again, harder than he did afore. Then the land- 
lord stepped up to the door and thumped on to it 
with his fist, and says he, 

" There's none so deaf as them that won't hear ; 
but they needn't think to work us in this way. 
This door's got to come open by fair means or foul. 



58 JACK DOWNINa'S LETTERS. 

and I'll be the first person that goes through it, if 1 
have to stand here all day." 

And then he thumped on to the door again with 
his fist, and the officer rung the bell harder than 
ever. And they kept at it pretty tight, first one 
and then t'other, for about ten minutes, and they 
made sich a racket that the neighbors begun to 
open their blinds and window-shutters, and look 
out to see what was the matter. And a little old 
man poked his bald head out of the third story 
window, right over where I stood, and says he, 

" What are y« making all that clatter over there 
for 1 I don't believe you'll raise anybody if you 
thump all day." 

" Why, aint Miss Pinkham and her family to 
home ?" says the landlord. 

" Well, I don't believe there's a soul in the house," 
said the little old man — '* if there had been you'd 
raised 'em long ago." 

" But they haven't moved, have they ?" says the 
landlord. 

" It's a wonder to me if they haven't," said the 
old man over my head, " for they was to work till 
almost midnight, last night, carrying out their 
things." 

At that the landlord and the officer looked kind 
of thunderstruck. 

" Do you know where they've moved to ?" says 
the officer. 

"I don't know nothing about it," said the little 
old man, " nor I don't care, if they wont come back 
to our neighborhood again ; for of all the women 
to get into every's mess and upset everybody's dish. 
Miss Pinkham beats all that ever I see." 

" And I don't see but she's dished us too," said 
the officer. " Well, Mr. Brown, what shall we do 1 
How shall we find out where she's gone to V 

" Oh, I can find that out easy enough," says Mr. 



JACK dovv'kikg's letters. 59 

Brown, " for she's took one of 'Squire Sharp's 
houses. But we'll go in by hook or by crook ; 
may be she hasn't got all her things away yet." 

So they went down to the basement door — that 
means a door that goes into a room about halfway 
between a cellar and a room above ground — most 
all the houses here in New York have 'em — and 
they both give a shove against the door as tight as 
they could, and bust it right open. And they went 
in and looked all over the house, and come out 
again lookin": sour enough. Mr. Brown used some 
pretty harsh words, and swore a little. 

" That's always my luck," says he. " Now she's 
gone with two quarters rent, and the house is dam- 
aged as much as another quarter's rent besides. 
This is too bad ; I had no idea but I should be air- 
ly enough to grab her furniture this morning." 

Thinks I, Mr. Brown, getting up airly one morn- 
ing in the year aint quite enough, where a man has 
slippery folks to deal with, for sich folks commonly 
want looking after every da}^ airly and late. 

They turned and went away, and I turned tother 
way and went home. It had now got to be all 
broad daylight, and there begun to be considera- 
ble of a bustle in the streets, and the doors and 
windows began to be opened, and the hoss-carts 
began to rattle along over the stones in the streets, 
and to back up to the doors, and folks was lug- 
ging out their housen-stufl' and piling it on the carts, 
as fast as we used to pitch hay in haying-time in 
Downingville when there was a ' shower coming 
up. So I thought it was time for me to begin to 
hurry, for I hadn't got any of my things packed up 
yet, though I meant to a had 'em pretty much all 
packed up the night afore, if Miss Pinkham hadn't 
bothered us so. When I got up stairs, I found the 
whole biling of 'em was up, and in pretty consider- 
able kind of a muss. Things was all pitch-poled, 



GO JACK- downing' 3 LETTERS. 

helter-skelter, and mixed up as thick again as tney 
was when I went out. Polly sot in the corner, 
looking as if she hadn't a friend in the world, and I 
believe she was crying a little. Her arm was quite 
lame. Miss Pinkham was stavin' about like a 
house-a-fire. She'd pulled our children out of bed, 
and they was scuddin' about half-dressed, and the 
little ones was crying ; and then she'd pulled and 
hauled all our things out of the two bed-rooms, and 
piled 'em about in the fore-room and kitchen, so 
that it was no small job to get across the rooms 
anywhere ; and she was fast a getting some of her 
bedsteads and things into the bed-rooms to set up. 

" Says I, " Miss Pinkham, what upon airth are 
you doing ?" 

" What am I doing?" says she — "why, I'm put- 
ting things to rights. I want to get 'em all out of 
the way snug, so as not to be any trouble to you ; 
for I don't, s'pose there anybody in this world that 
hates to be a trouble to anybody in this world 
worse than I do. And I wouldn't have you think, 
because you let me bring my things in here before 
it was my time to come in, that I mean to be the 
least trouble to you in the world." 

" Oh, no," says I, -" Miss Pinkham, I don't think 
no such thing, by no means. But perhaps if you'd 
let my things stand till I got ready to pack 'em up, 
I might know better where to take hold of 'era." 

" Oh no," says she, " they're all out on the floor 
there now as handy as can be lor ye. And I've 
got your closet all cleared out too ; and n.ow if 
you'll jest take hold of t'other side of this ere bask- 
et of crockery, and help me carry it in the closet, 
I'll be settin' it up." 

So I took hold of the basket, and helped her along 
Vi^ith it, and says I — 

" Miss Pinkham, I was very sorry about the acci- 



JACK dowxixct's letters. G1 

dent that happened to your dishes last night. I 
hope it didn't break much." 

" Only three cups and two sarcers and a mug," 
says she, " and Miss Downing's was so much like 
em we've matched em again very well out of hern 
this morning ; all but the mug, and that I told her 
she might pay me the money for. It cost fifteen 
pence when 'twas new, but bein it had an old crack 
in it, I told her she needn't pay me but a shilling for 
it." 

The foct was, Polly had got so kind of nervous, 
and so afraid of Miss Pinliham, that I dont believe 
but what she would a gin her up every dish we 
had in the house if she'd asked for em. I didn't 
like this way of settling the business very well, and 
couldn't help thinkinV? about the hed^e-hog that beg- 
ged his way into the woodchuck's hole, only jest to 
lay and rest him a little while, and then crowded 
and crowded until he drove the woodchuck clear 
out, and kept possession of the nest and all there 
was in it. But I see Miss Pinkham was sich a tiery 
piece, and as long a^ we had got to go out, I thought 
the cheapest way was to say nothing and get away 
us easily as we could. And it wasn't long before 
I was still more confirmed in this opinion ; for we 
hadn't but jest set the basket of crockery into the 
closet, when somebody knocked at the door. 

" Come in," says I. And wlio should come in, 
but the fat landlord, Mr. Brown, and the officer 
that I'd seen with him. Miss Puikham's face turn- 
ed as red as fire in a minute, and she shet the 
closet door and took a chair and sot down. 

" You've moved, haven't you. Miss Pinkham ?" 
said Mr. Brown, looking pretty starn at her. 

" Yes, I have," says she, looking as starn as he 
4id. 

" Well, when are you going to pay that rent ?" 



62 JACK downing's letters. 

says he, gritting his teeth together, and edging 
along up to her. 

" When I get it," says she, sticking her chin out 
at him, and showing her teeth, hke a cat that turns 
round to fight a dog that's drove her into a corner. 
" And I guess I shant worry myself about it, if 
'taint paid very soon," says she, " for you never 
kept that house in any kind of repairs, Mr. Brown, 
and you know it. 'Taint scarcely fit to live in." 

" Every thing was in good order when you went 
into it," says he, and all the rent you've ever paid. 
I've laid out in repairs ; and now it wants fifty dol- 
lars more laid out right upon it before it will be fit 
for any body to go into. There isn't a window in 
the house but what's got glass broke out of it.' 

" Well, I don't know nothing about how that 
come," says she, " we didn't break none of it." 

" Well," says he, " I must have this rent or some 
security for it, before I leave the house, or I shall 
take some of your furniture and sell it for what 
t'will fetch. You've got lots of it piled about here." 

At that Miss Pinkham begun to rave. She 
sprung up on her feet, and stood and looked Mr. 
Brown in the face, and she grew as red as a blaze. 
And says she, 

" You touch any of this furniture if you dare. 
And these things about here aint mine neither, 
they're Mr. Downing's." 

At that Mr. Brown turned to me, and says he, 
" Mr. Downing, is this furniture yourn ?" 

I wasn't no notion of telling a Jiefor any of 'em. 
So, says I, " Some on't 's mine, and some on't isn't." 

" Well," says he, " which is yourn, and which is 
Miss Pinkham's." 

Says I, ' She's got matters so mixed up here, 
'twould take pretty considerable of a spell to pick 
em out I guess. But most of these things about the 
middle of the room is mine, and most of them are 



JACK downing's letters. G3 

things heaped along that side of the fore-room and 
that side of the kitchen is hern. 

Then he stepped along, and began to look em over, 
and told the officer to take this thing and that thing 
and 'tother thing. But Miss Pinkham ketched up 
a chair and went at him like a tiger, and says she, 

" Mr. Brown, if you aint out of this house in one 
minute, I'll break this chair over your head." And 
she fetched a blow at him, that, if he hadn't a 
dodged it, would a laid him sprawlin. He sprung 
for the door, and she after him pell-mell. He 
scrabbled down stairs as fast as he could waddle 
his heavy fat sides along, and she arter him, hold- 
ing the chair up jest ready to strike. When they 
got about half-way down stairs, she happened to 
slip, and pitched forward against Mr. Brown, and 
that knocked him down, and away they rolled like 
a couple of hogsets of molasses clear to the bottom 
of the stairs. Mr. Brown was rather more scared 
than hurt, for he* thought the old woman had 
jumped right on to him and knocked him down stairs, 
and he roared out and called for the officer to come 
and help him. But the officer was making his way 
as fast as he could down the back stairs, and got 
out into the street before Mr. Brown did. I looked 
out of the window, and I see em both jest turning 
round the next corner, and Mr. Brown was limping 
along so lame, he couldn't but jest go. Presently 
Miss Pinkham came puffing along up the stairs, 
and muttering to herself, " I'll larn him to come here 
to meddle with my things ; a good-for-nothing 
brute ; I'll larn him, 1 will." And says she, " Mr. 
Downing, I broke your chair driving of him out, but 
I spose you won't mind that, as I did it as much 
for your good as for mine ; for there's no knowing 
how many of your things he might a carried off if 
I hadn't a drove him out." 

I told her it wan't but little consequence about 



64 JACK downing's lettees. 

the chair, especially as she had some prett}' much 
like it, and when we come to load up, she could jest 
put in one of hern, and that would make it square 
again. At that she turned round and give me such 
a look right in the face, that I declare I started back 
as much as thi'ee feet before I knew it ; and says 
she, 

" Mr. Downing, if you haint no more gratitude 
than that, you aint fit to live among Christian 
people. Do as you would be done by ; that's my 
rule. After I've drove that brute out of your 
house, and no doubt kept him from carrying off 
some of your things, do you dare to ask me to pay 
for that old chair ?" — and she stuck her chin out 
and flashed her eyes jest as she did to Mr. Brown. 

" Oh no, mam," says I, " I do^'t wish it by no 
means. Miss Pinkham." 

So we dropt the subject and said no more about 
it. If it had been a man I should a known what 
to a done pretty quick ; for I never was made to 
be drove by a man. But I thought I wouldn't get 
into a scrape with a woman if she broke all the 
chairs in the house. So at it I went to packin up. 
Polly and Cousin Nabby took hold in good arnest, 
and Jacky and Ichabod handed and fetched things, 
so that we got 'em into shape pretty fast. About 
nine o'clock we'd got our boxes and barrels and 
chests full, and the small ware and dishes put 
into the wash-tubs and pots and kettles, and I went 
out to find a team to haul us. I could find teams 
fast enough, but the trouble was to get 'em. There 
wasn't no ox teams sich as we have in Downing- 
ville ; but there was no end to the one boss teams, 
haulin little carts, and goin like split all over the 
city. I run arter one that I see a little ways off 
with nothin on his cart, and called out to him to 
stop. He looked round to me and shook his head, 
and drove on as tight as ever. But I pulled arter 



JACK DOWNING 'S LETTERS. 65 

him and hollered again, and swung my hat, and at 
last he stopt and let me come up to him. Says I, 

" Mister, I want to hire you to go and haul up 
my housen-stuff, it' you and I can agree." 

He put his thumb up against his nose, and shook 
his fingers at me, and says he, 

" You must be a green one, and no mistake." 
And he gin his boss a cut, and his wheels flew over 
the stones again as fast, and made as much of a 
rattlin, as cousin John Smith's drumsticks when 
he's beatin for the regiment muster days. 

Then I see another drivin along full chisel, but his 
cart was empty, so 1 hollered arter him. He slacken- 
ed his boss a minute, and when I told him what I 
wanted, he said he couldn't go no how, for he'd got 
fourteen loads engaged to-day, and that was as 
much as he could possibly get through with, and 
work half the night too. So he whipped up, and 
off he went like smoke. I called arter another, and 
he only shook his head and drove on. I run round 
from one street to another for about an hour, and 
my stars ! I wouldn't a believed there was so much 
housen-stuff in America. Every street was full of 
loaded carts and empty carts. All the empty ones 
was driving like Jehu, and some of the loaded ones 
was goin so fast I thought they'd smash every 
thing all to atoms, except now and then one, where 
the owner of the housen-stuff was goin along with it 
to watch it. At last, after trying a good many of 'em, 
I found one that said he didn't know but he might go. 

" Well," says I, " Mister, what'U ye ask ?" 

" Two dollars and a half a load," says he. 

" But that's a most unreasonable price," says I. 

" Can't help that," says he, " nobody don't take 
any less to-day. And some of 'em gets three or 
four dollars a load. Come, speak quick, if you 
want me," says he, " for I can't wait." 

"Well, now," says I, "Mister, that price is beyond 
5 



Q6 JACK downing's letters. 

all reason. Couldn't you and I work it so as to 
change works 1 I'm sure I should be willing to do 
you as good a turn as you would me. If you'll go 
and work for me half a day with yourself and 
hoss, I'll work for you a whole day, and take my 
Jacky with me, and he's a smart boy most fourteen 
years old." 

At that, I'll be hanged if he didn't put his thumb 
up agin his nose, jest as that teamster did that I 
stopt first ; it seems to be a kind of a way they 
have here when they want to be very sassy ; and 
says he, 

" Rather green, I guess ; when d'ye come down ?" 
and he gin his hoss a cut and along he went. 

Arter a while I found an old man with a lean old 
hoss, that had sort of gridiron ribs, and he said he'd 
go for two dollars a load. I found I was getting 
into a corner, for it had got to be eleven o'clock, 
and I'd seen enough of Miss Pinkham to expect 
she'd begin to reign as soon as the clock struck 
twelve. So I told the old man he might go ; and 
we drove home and went to loading. We laid the 
bedsteads on lengthways, and then the buro on 
crossways and back down, and next to that come 
a chist of clothes, and then two tables bottom up- 
wards, and then two flour barrels full of little 
things on behind, and a light stand between 'em 
bottom upwards. And then we filled in a laying 
of little things all the way from one end to 'tother ; 
and then we laid on the feather bed that you give 
Polly when we came away from DowmngviUe ; 
and then we put on some baskets, the tubs of dishes 
and things, and rounded off towards the top with 
bed-clothes, and light truck and then we hung a 
row of chairs all round on the stakes. By running 
a rope roynd the stakes and binding up pretty well, 
the cart took on more than I expected, and I begun 
to be in hopes we might carry it all to one load. 



JACK downing's letters. 67 

The old man said he could carry it all well enough, 
if I'd a mind to resk it's staying on. So we went 
to piling on again, and chucking in and filling up 
all the holes between things. Some of the top 
things was rather loose and tottlish, so we put Jacky 
right up top and let him set straddle of the 
load to steady it. And then we had to give him a 
basket full of tumblers and glass things to hold in 
his hand. Cousin Nabby took little Joshy, and 
Polly took the looking glass, and I took the military 
coat that Gineral Jackson give me when I lived to 
Washington, and hung it across my arm, for I never 
allow that coat to be jammed away into a chist or 
buro ; and uncle Joshua's portrait, that I've had put 
into a nice brass frame since we've been here, I 
took in t'other hand. Then I told the old man he 
might start along, and we'd walk behind and keep 
watch. I felt a little anxious about Jacky on top 
of the load ; but he's a smart boy, and he hung on 
and managed things pretty well. But sich a sight of 
teams and folks as there was all along the streets, 
carryin all sorts of housen-stutf, I don't think you 
ever see or dreampt of. The streets was full of 
carts goin' and corain, and the side-walks was full 
of men, women and children carrying things in 
their hands. 

When we had got about half way, the cart had 
got along a little ways a head of us, and I was look- 
ing back at the crowd behind us, when all to once 
Polly screamed out " there goes Jacky." 

I looked, and Jacky was dying in the air like a 
toad from a trap-stick. One of them great boss 
wagons they call omnibusses here, had run full tilt 
right against the cart, and knocked every thing into 
a kind of a cocked hat. It didn't exactly upset the 
cart, but it knocked otF about one half the top-load, 
and sent Jacky clear from the middle of the street on 
to the side walk. The omnibus fellow drove on as 



68 JACK downing's letters. 

fast as he could drive, and never stopt to look back. 
I was afraid Jacky was almost killed, and I run as 
hard as I could to pick him up ; but he struck 
pretty much on his feet, and wasn't hurt much arter 
all. He held on to the basket, but the glass was 
smashed all to pieces. When Polly came up she 
couldn't help cryin. But I told her it was no use to 
cry for spilt milk. Jacky was saved alive, and 
therefore we had a great deal more to be thankful 
for than we had to cry for. As for the glass dishes 
and things we could soon go to work and earn some 
more, and the best way was to pick up the things 
and get 'em home as well as we could and make the 
the best of it. So Polly wiped up, and we all went 
to work to put things to rights as well as we 
could. A good many of the things was broke, and 
some was jammed and twisted out of all shape. We 
had to pile 'em up on the side walk, and Polly 
and Nabby stay by "em and watch 'em, while we 
went along to the house and onloaded what there 
was left on the cart ; and then we went baSk and 
picked up the fragments, and about sunset we got 
'em all tumbled into the house in heaps, and never 
was I so glad to get through with a job afore in all 
my life. We made up some beds on the floor that 
night, and if we didn't sleep I think it's a pity. 

I would tell you a great many queer things, how 
the great rich folks moved, and how the poor folks 
moved, and about landlords nabbing housen-stuff" 
and selling it at vendue, and about some poor cree- 
ters bein turned out of doors, and no house to put 
their heads into, and settmg and crying all day and 
all night out on the side walk. Polly's cried about 
it a half a dozen times since, she pitied 'em so. 
But I haint got time to write no moi'e to-day. I 
hope you and uncle Joshua will come and make us 
a visit this summer, and then we can tell you all 
about it. But there's no day in this world, aunt 



JACK downing's letters. 69 

Keziah, like May-day in New York, you may de- 
pend on't. Give my love to Uncle Joshua, and I 
remain. 

Your loving nephew, 

Major Jack Downing- 



70 JACK downing's letters. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 



[Note by the PasLisHERS. The following stories and sketches 
of humor are inserted at the special request of Major Downing, and by 
consent of the author. ] 



The names used in the following narrative are of course 
fictitious ; bat the incidents all occurred substantially as here 
related, and the parties are respectable gentlemen now living 
and doing business in this bustling city of New York. The 
•writer had the acuount directly from the lips of the principal 
actor. It also should be added that Mr. Sharp described in 
this article is not Squire Sharp, the landlord, mentioned by 
Major Downing in his escelleut letters, though it is not im- 
probable he may be a second or third cousin.] 

PERSEVERANCES 
OR PETER PUxNCTUAL'S WAY TO COLLECT BILLS. 

BY SEBA SMITH. 

Some few years ago, Peter Punctual, an honest 
and industrious young fellow from Yankee land — I 
say Yankee land, but I freely confess that is merely 
an inference of mine, drawn from circumstances of 
this story itself; but if my readers, after perusing 
it, do not come to the same conclusion, they may 
set him down as coming from any other land they 
please ; but for myself, were I on a jury, and under 
oath, I would bring him in a Yankee. This same 
Peter Punctual, some few years ago, came into 
New York, and attempted to turn a penny and get 
an honest living by procuring subscribers to vari- 



JACK downing's letters, 71 

ous magazines and periodicals, on his own hook. 
That is, he would receive a quantity of magazines 
from a distant publisher, at a discount, and get up 
his own list of subscribers about the city, and serve 
them through the year at the regular subscription 
price, which would leave the amount of the said 
discount a clear profit in his pocket, or rather a 
compensation for his time and labor. There are 
man)^ persons in this city who obtain a livelihood in 
the same way. 

Peter's commissions being small, and his capital 
still smaller, he was obliged to transact his business 
with great care and circumspection, in order to 
make both ends meet. He adopted a rule therefore 
to make all his subscribers pay their year's sub- 
scription in advance. Such things could be done 
in those days when business was brisk, and the peo- 
ple were strangers to " hard times."' In canvassing 
for subscribers, one day, through the lower part of 
the city, and in the principal business streets, he ob- 
served a store which had the air of doing a heavy 
business, and read upon the sign over the door, 
" Solomon Sharp, Importer" of certain wares and 
merchandize. The held looked inviting, and in 
Peter went with his samples under his arm, and in- 
quired for Mr. Sharp, The gentleman was point- 
ed out to him by the clerks, and Peter stepped up 
and asked him if he would not like to subscribe for 
some magazines. 

" What sort of ones have you got there?" said 
Mr. S. 

" Three or four different kinds," said Peter, laying 
the specimens on the desk before him — " please to 
look at them and suit yourself," 

Sharp tumbled them over and examined them 
one after another, and at last took up " Bucking- 
ham's New England Magazine," published at Bos- 
ton. 



72 JACK downing's letters. 

" What are your terms for this ?" said he ; "I 
don't know but I would subscribe for this." 

" Five dollars a year in advance," said Peter, " to 
be delivered carefully every month at your store or 
house." 

" But I never pay in advance for these things," 
said Sharp. " It's time enough to pay for a thing 
when you get it. I'll subscribe for it, if you have a 
mind to receive your pay at the end of the year, 
and not otherwise." 

" That's against my rule," said Peter ; " I have 
all my subscribers pay in advance." 

" Well, it's against my rule to pay for anythmg 
before I get it," said Sharp ; " so if you haven't a 
mind to take my subscription, to be paid at the end 
of the year, you won't get it at all. That's the long 
and the short of the matter." 

Peter paused a little, and queried with himself as 
to what he had better do. The man was evident- 
ly doing a large business, and was undoubtedly 
rich — a wholesale dealer and an importer — there 
could not possibly be any danger of losing the sub- 
scription in such a case : and would it not be bet- 
ter to break over his rule for once, than to lose so 
good a subscriber. 

" Well, what say ?" said Sharp ; " do as you 
like ; but those are my only terms. I will not pay 
for a thing before I get it." 

" On the whole," said Peter, " I have a good mind 
to break over my rule this time, for I don't like to 
lose a good subscriber when I can find one. I be- 
lieve I'll put your name down, sir. Where will 
you have it left ?" 

" At my house," said Mr. Sharp, which was 
about a mile and a half from his store, away up 
town. 

The business being thus concluded, Peter took 
up his magazines, bade Mr. Sharp good morning, 



JACK downing's lettehs. 73 

and left the store. No further personal intercourse 
occurred between them during the year. But Pe- 
ter, who was his own carrier, as well as canvasser, 
regularly every month delivered the New England 
Magazine at Mr. Sharp's door. And in a few days 
after the year expired, he made out his bill for the 
five dollars, and called at Mr. Sharp's store for the 
money. He entered with as much confidence that 
he should receive the chink at once, as he would 
have had in going with a check for the like sum in- 
to the Bank of the United States, during that insti- 
tution's palmiest days. He found Mr. Sharp at his 
desk, and presented him the bill. That gentleman 
took it and looked at it, and then looked at Peter. 

" Oh ! ah, good morning," said he, " you are the 
young man who called here on this business nearly 
a year ago. Well, the year has come round, has 
it?" 

" Yes, I believe it has," said Peter. 

" Well, bills of this kind," said Mr. Sharp, " are 
paid at the house. We don't attend to them here ; 
you just take it to the house, any time when you are 
passing, and it will be settled." 

" Oh, very well, sir," said Peter, bowing, and left 
the store. " Doing too large a business at the store, 
I suppose," he continued, to himself, as he walked 
up the street, " to attend to little things of this kind. 
Don't like to be bothered with 'em, probably." 

But Peter thought he might as well make a finish 
of the business, now he was out ; so he went di- 
rectly to the house, and rung at the door. The 
servant girl soon made her appearance. 

" Mrs. Sharp within ?" said Peter. 

" Yes, sir," said the girl. 

" Jest carry this bill to her, if you please, and ask 
her if she will hand you the money for it." 

The girl took the bill into the house, and present- 
ly returned with the answer, that " Mrs. Sharp says 
4 



T4 JACK downing's letters. 

she doesn't pay none of these 'ere things here — you 
must carry it to the store." 

" Please to carry it back to Mrs. Sharp," said 
Peter, " and tell her Mr. Sharp desired me to bring 
the bill here, and said it would be paid at the 
house." 

This message brought Mrs. Sharp herself to the 
door, to whom Peter raised his hat and bowed very 
politely. 

" I haven't nothing at all to do v/ith the bills here 
at the house," said the lady ; " they must be car- 
ried to the store — that's the place to attend to them." 

" Well, mam," said Peter, " I carried it to the 
store, and presented it to Mr. Sharp, and he told 
me to bring it to the house and you would pay it 
here, and that he couldn't attend to it at the store." 

" But he couldn't mean that I should pay it," said 
Mrs. Sharp, " for he knows I haven't the money." 

" But he said so," said Peter. 

"Well then there must be some mistake about 
it," said the lady. 

" I beg your pardon, mam," said Petei% " it's pos- 
sible there may be," and he put the bill in his pock- 
et, bowed and left the house. 

" It is very queer," thought Peter to himself as 
he walk away a little vexed. " I can't conceive 
how there could be any mistake about it, though it 
is possible there may be. There couldn't be any 
mistake on my part, for I'm sure I understood him. 
May be he thought she had money at the house 
when she hadn't. I guess it will all come out right 
enough in the end." 

Consoling himself with these reflections, Peter 
Punctual thought he would let Mr. Sharp rest two 
or three days, and not show any anxiety by calling 
again in a hurry. He would not be so unwise as 
to offend a good subscriber, and run the hazard of 
losing him, by an appearance of too much haste in 



JACK DOWNINa'S LETTERS. 75 

presenting his bills. Accordingly, in about three 
days, he called again at Mr. Sharp's store, and ask- 
ed* him in a low voice, so that no one should over- 
hear, if it v^^as convenient for him to take that little 
bill for the magazine to-day. 

" But I told you," said Mr. Sharp, " to carry that 
bill to the house ; I can't attend to it here." 

" Yes, sir, so I understood you," said Peter, " and 
I carried it to the house, and Mrs. Sharp said she 
couldn't pay it there, for she had no money, and I 
must bring it to the store." 

" Oh, strange," said Mr. Sharp ; " well, she didn't 
properly understand it then. But I am too much 
engaged to attend to you to-day ; you call again, or 
call at the house sometime, when I am there." 

Upon this, he turned to his desk and began to 
write with great earnestness, and Peter left the 
store. The afiair began to grow a little vexatious, 
and Peter felt a little nettled. Still, he supposed 
that people doing such very large business did tind 
it difficult to attend to these little matters, and 
doubtless it would be set right when he should call 
again. 

After waiting patiently a couple of weeks, Peter 
called again at Mr. Sharp's store. When he enter- 
ed the door, Mr. Sharp was looking at a newspa- 
per ; but on glancing at Peter, he instantly dropped 
the paper, and fell to writing at his desk with great 
rapidity. Peter waited respectfully a few minutes, 
unwilling to disturb the gentleman till he should ap- 
pear to be a little more at leisure. But after wait- 
ing some time without seeing any prospect of Mr. 
Sharp's completing the very pressing business be- 
fore him, he approached him with delerence, and 
asked if it would be convenient for him to take that 
little bill for the magazine to-day. Sharp turned 
and looked at Peter very sternly. 

" I can't be bothered with these little things," said 



76 JACK downinq's letters. 

he, " when I am so much engaged. I am exceed- 
ingly busy to-day — a good many heavy orders 
waiting — you must call at the house, and hand the 
bill to me or my wife, no matter which." And he 
turned to his desk, and continued to write, without 
saying anything more. 

Peter began to think he had got hold of a hard 
customer : but he had no idea of giving up the 
chase. He called at the house several times after- 
ward, but Mr. Sharp never happened to be at home. 
Once he ventured to send the bill again by the girl 
to Mrs. Sharp, who returned for answer, that she 
had nothing to do with such bills ; he must carry it 
to the store. 

At last, after repeated calls, he found Mr. Sharp 
one day at home. He came to the door, and Peter 
presented the bill. Mr. Sharp expressed some sur- 
prize and regret that he had come away from the 
store, and forgot to put any money in his pocket. 
Peter would have to call some other day. Accord- 
ingly, Peter Punctual retired, with a full determin- 
ation to call some other day, and that not very far 
distant ; for it had now been several months that 
he had been beaten back and forth like a shuttle- 
cock between Mr. Sharp's store and Mr. Sharp's 
house, and he was getting to be rather tired of the 
game. 

Having ascertained from the girl at what hour 
the family dined, he called the next day precisely 
at the dinner hour. He rung at the door, and when 
the girl opened it, Peter stepped into the hall. 

" Is Mr. Sharp in ?" said Peter. 

" Yes, sir," said the girl ; " he's up stairs. I'll 
speak to him if you want to see him." 

" Yes," said Peter, " and I'll take a seat in the 
parlor till he comes down." 

As he said this, Peter walked into the parlor and 
seated himself upon an elegant sofa. The parlor 



JACK downing's letters. 7T 

was richly furnished with Brussels carpet, the best 
of mahogany furniture, a splendid piano, &c., &c. ; 
and in the back parlor, to which folding doors were 
open, everything appeared with corresponding ele- 
gance. A table was there spread, upon which din- 
ner seemed to be nearly ready. Presently the girl 
returned from the chamber, and informed Peter, 
that Mr. Sharp said " it was jest the dinner hour 
now, and he would have to call again." 

" Please to go and tell Mr, Sharp," said Peter, 
" that I must see him, and I'll wait till he comes 
down." 

The girl carried the message, and Mr. Sharp 
soon made his appearance in the parlor. A frown 
passed over his brow as he looked at Peter and 
saw him sitting so much at ease, and apparently so 
much at home, upon the sofa. Peter rose and ask- 
ed him politely if it was convenient for him to take 
that little bill to-day. 

" No," said Sharp, " it is not ; and if it was. .1 
wouldn't take it at this hour. It's a very improper 
time to call upon such an errand just as one is go- 
ing to sit down to dinner. You must call again ; 
but don't call at dinner time ; or you may drop in- 
to the store sometime, and perhaps I may find time 
to attend to it there." 

" Well, now, Mr. Sharp," said Peter, with rather 
a determined look, " I can't stand this kind of busi- 
ness any longer, that's a fact. I'm a poor man, and 
1 suppose you are a rich one. I can t afford to lose 
five dollars, and I'm too poor to spend any more 
time in running after it and trying to collect it. I 
must eat, as well as other folks, and if you can't pay 
me the five dollars to-day, to help me pay my board 
at my regular boarding-house, I'll stay here and 
board it out at your table," 

" You will, will you ?" said Sharp, looking dag 
gers, and stepping toward Peter. " If you give me 



78 JACK downing'6 letteks. 

a word of your impudence, you may find it'll be a 
long time before you collect your bill." 

" It's been a long time already," said Peter, " and 
1 can't afford to wait any longer. My mind is made 
up ; if you don't pay me now, I'm going to stay 
here and board it out." 

Sharp colored, and looked at the door, and then 
at Peter. 

" Come, come, young man," said he, advancing 
with rather a threatening attitude toward Peter, 
" the sooner you leave the house peaceably the bet- 
ter." 

" Now, sir," said Peter, fixing his black eyes up- 
on Sharp, with an intenseness that he could not but 
feel, " I am a small man, and you are considerable 
of a large one ; but my mind is made up. I am 
not going to starve, when there's food enough that 
I have an honest claim upon." 

So saying, he took his seat again very deliber- 
ately upon the sofa. Sharp paused; he looked ag- 
itated and angry ; and after waiting a minute, ap- 
parently undecided what to do, he left the parlor 
and went up stairs. In a few minutes, the servant 
rung for dinner. Mrs. Sharp came into the dining 
room and took her seat at the head of the table. 
Mr. Sharp followed, and seated himself opposite his 
lady ; and between them, and on the right hand of 
of Mrs. Sharp, sat another lady, probably some 
friend or relative of the family. When they were 
well seated, and Mr. Sharp was beginning to carve, 
Peter walked out of the parlor, drew another chair 
up to the table, and seated himself very composed- 
ly opposite the last mentioned lady. Mr. Sharp 
colored a good deal, but kept on carving. Mrs. 
Sharp stared very wildly, first at Peter and then at 
her husband. 

"What in the world does this mean?" said she, 



JACK DO"WNT]SrG'S LETTl^RS. 70 

" Mr. Sharp I didn't know we were to have com- 
pany to dinner." 

" Wc are not," said the husband. " This young 
man has the impudence to take his seat at the table 
unasked and says he is going to board out the 
amount of the bill." 

" Well, really, this is a pretty piece of politeness," 
said Mrs. Sharp, looking very hard at Peter. 

" Madam," said Peter, " hunger will drive a man 
through a stone wall. I must have my board some- 
where." 

No reply was made to this, and the dinner went 
on without any further reference to Peter at pre- 
sent. Mr. Sharp helped his wife, and then the oth- 
er lady, and then himself, and they all fell to eating. 
Peter looked around him for a plate and knife and 
fork, but there were none on the table but what 
were in use. Peter, however, was not to be baf- 
fled. He reached a plate of bread, and tipping the 
bread upon the table cloth, appropriated the plate 
for his own convenience. He then took possession 
of the carving knife and fork, helped himself boun- 
tifully to meat and vegetables, and commenced eat- 
ing his dinner with the greatest composure imagin- 
able. These operations on the part of Peter, had 
the effect to suspend all operations for the time on 
the part of the rest of the company. The ladies 
had laid down their knives and forks, and were 
staring at Peter in wild astonishment. 

" For mercy's sake, Mr. Sharp," said the lady of 
the house, " can't we pick up money enough about 
the house to pay this man his five dollars and send 
him off? I declare this is too provoking. I'll see 
what I can find." 

With that she rose and left the room. Mr. Sharp 
presently followed her. They returned again in a 
minute, and Mr. Sharp laid a five dollar bill before 
Peter, and told him he would thank him to leave 



80 JACK downing's letters. 

the house. Peter examined the bill to see if it was 
a good one, and v^ery quietly folded it and put it in- 
to his pocket. He then drew out a little pocket ink- 
stand and a piece of paper, laid it upon the table 
before him, wrote a receipt for the money, which 
he handed to Mr. Sharp, rose from the table, bow- 
ed to the company and retired, thinking as he left 
the house that he had had full enough of the custom 
of Solomon Sharp, the importer. 

Peter Punctual still followed his vocation of cir- 
culating magazines. He had no intention of ever 
darkening the door of Mr. Solomon Sharp's store 
again, but somehow or other, two or three years 
after, as he was canvasing for subscribers in the 
lower part of the city, he happened to blunder into 
the same store accidentally, without noticing the 
name upon the door. Nor did he discover his mis- 
take, until he had nearly crossed the store and at- 
tracted the attention of Mr. Sharp himself, who was 
at his accustomed seat at the desk where Peter had 
before so often seen him. Peter thought, as he 
had got fairly into the store, he would not back out ; 
so he stepped up to Mr, Sharp without a look of re- 
cognition, and asked if he would not like to sub- 
scribe for some magazines. Mr. Sharp, who either 
did not recognize Peter, or chose not to appear to 
recognize him, took the magazines and looked at 
them, and found a couple he said he would like to 
take, and inquired the terms. They were each 
three dollars a year in advance. 

" But I don't pay in advance for anything," said 
Sharp. " If you have a mind to leave them at my 
house, to be paid for at the end of the year, you 
may put me down for these two." 

" No," said Peter, " I don't wish to take any sub- 
scribers, but those who pay in advance." 

Saying this, he took up his specimens, and was 



JACK downtng's letters. 81 

going out of the door, when Mr. Sharp called him 
back. 

" Here young man, you may leave those two at 
any rate," said he, " and here's your advance," 
handing him the six dollars. 

" Where will you have them left 1" said Peter. 

" At my house, up town," said Mr. Sharp, de- 
scribing the street and number. 

The business being completed, Peter retired, 
inuch astonished at his good luck. He again be- 
came a monthly visitor at Mr. Sharp's door, where 
he regularly delivered to the servant girl the two 
magazines. Two or three months after this, when 
he called one day on his usual round, the girl told 
him that Mr. Sharp wanted to see him, and desired 
he would call at the store. Peter felt not a little 
curious to know what Mr. Sharp might have to 
say to him ; so in the course of the same day he 
called at Mr. Sharp's store. 

" Good morning," said Mr. Sharp as Peter enter- 
ed ; " come, take a chair, and sit down here." 

Peter, with a '• good morning, sir," did as he was 
desired. 

" Ain't you the young man," said Mr. Sharp, with 
a comical kind of a look, '" who set out to board 
out a subscription to the New England Magazine, 
at my house two or three years ago." 

" Yes," said Peter, " I believe I'm the same per- 
son who once had the honor of taking board at your 
house." 

" Well," said Mr. Sharp, " I want to give you a 
job." 

" What is it ?" said Peter. 

" Here, I want you to collect these bills for me," 
said Mr. Sharp, taking a bundle from his desk, " for 
.{'11 be hanged if /can; I've tried till I'm tired." 

Whereupon he opened the bundle and assorted 
6 



82 JACK downing's letters. 

out the bills, and made a schedule of them, amount- 
ing, in the aggregate, to about a thousand dollars. 

*' There," said he, " I will give upon that list ten 
per cent commission on all you collect ; and on 
that list I'll give you twenty- fxve per cent on all 
you collect. What say you? will you undertake 
the job r 

" Well, I'll try," said Peter, " and see what I can 
do with them. How soon must I return them ?" 

" Take your own time for it," said Mr. Sharp ; 
" I've seen enough of you to know pretty well what 
you are." 

Peter accordingly took the bills and entered on 
his new task, following it up with diligence and per- 
severance. In a few weeks he called again at 
Sharp's store. 

" Well," said Mr. Sharp, " have you made out 
to collect anything on those bills f 

" Yes," said Peter. 

" There were some of the ten per cent Hst that I 
thought it probable you might collect," said Mr. 
Sharp. " How many have you collected ?" 

" All of them," said Peter. 

" All of them !" said Sharp ; " well, fact, that's 
much more than I expected. The twenty-five per 
cent list was all dead dogs, wasn't it ? You got 
nothing on them, I suppose, did you V 

" Yes, I did," said Peter. 

" Did you though 1 How much V said Sharp. 

" I got them all," said Peter. 

" Oh, that's all a joke," said Sharp. 

'* No, it isn't a joke," said Peter. " Fve collected 
every dollar of them, and here's the money," taking 
out his pocket-book, and counting out the bills. 

Mr. Sharp received the money with the most 
perfect astonishment. He had not expected one 
half of the amount would ever be collected. 

He counted out the commissions on the ten per 



JACK downing's letters. 83 

cent list, and then the commissions on the twenty- 
five per cent list, and handed the sum over to Pe- 
ter, And then he counted out fifty dollars more, 
and asked Peter to accept that as a present ; " part- 
ly," said he, " because you have accomplished this 
task so very far beyond my expectations, and part- 
ly because my acquaintance with you has taught 
me one of the best lessons of my life. It has taught 
me the value of perseverance and punctuality. 1 
have reflected upon it much ever since you under- 
took to board out the bill for the magazine at my 
house." 

" Why yes," said Peter, " I think perseverance 
and punctuality are great helps in the way of busi- 
ness." 

" If every person in the community," said Mr. 
Sharp, " would make it a point to pay all of his bills 
promptly, the moment they become due, what a 
vast improvement it would make in the condition 
of society all round. That would put people in a 
condition, at all times, to be able to pay their bills 
promptly." 

We might add, that Peter Punctual afterward 
opened a store in the city, in a branch of business 
which brought Mr. Sharp to be a customer to him, 
and he has been one of his best customers ever 
since, paying all of his bills promptly, and whenever 
Peter requires it, even paying in advance. 



84 JACK DOWjMTIntg's lettees. 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTORS- 

BY SEBA SMITH. 

It was a dark, and rainy night in June, when 
Deacon Gray, about ten o'clock in the evening, 
drove his horse and wagon up to the door, on his re- 
turn from market. 

" Oh dear, Mr. Gray," exclaimed his wife, as she 
met him at the door, " I'm dreadful glad you've 
come ; Polly's so sick, I'm afraid she won't live till 
mornin', if something ain't done for her." 

" Polly is always ailing," said the deacon delib- 
erately ; " I guess it's only some of her old aches 
and pains. Just take this box of sugar in ; it has 
been raining on it this hour." 

" Well, do come right in, Mr. Gray, for you don't 
know what a desput case she is in ; I daren't leave 
her a minute." 

" You are. always scared half to death," said the 
deacon, " if anything ails Polly ; but you know she 
always gets over it again. Here's coffee and tea 
and some other notions rolled up in this bag," hand- 
ing her another bundle to carry into the house. 

" Well, but Mr. Gray, don't pray stop for bundles 
nor nothin' else. You must go right over after 
Doctor Longley, and get him here as quick as you 
can." 

"Oh, if it's only Doctor Longley she wants," said 
the deacon carelessly, " I guess she aint so danger- 
ous after all." 

" Now, Mr. Gray, jest because Doctor Longley is 
a young man and about Polly's age, that you should 
make such an unfeelin' expression as that, I think is 
too bad." 



JACK downing's letters. 85 

The deacon turned away without making a re- 
ply, and began to move the harness from the horse. 

" Mr. Gray, ain't you going after the doctor ?" 
said Mrs. Gray, with increasing impatience. 

" I'm going to turn the horse into the pasture, 
and then I'll come in and see about it," said the 
deacon. 

A loud groan from Polly drew Mrs. Gray hastily 
into the house. The deacon led his horse a quar- 
ter of a mile to the pasture ; let down the bars and 
turned him in ; put all the bars carefully up ; hunt- 
ed round and found a stick to drive in as a wedge 
to fasten the top bar ; went round the barn to sec 
that the doors were all closed ; got an armful of 
dry straw and threw it into the pig-pen ; called the 
dog from his kennel, patted him on his head, and 
went into the house. 

" I'm afraid she's dying," said Mrs. Gray, as the 
deacon entered. 

" You are always scared half out of your wits," 
said the deacon, " if there's anything the matter. 
I'll come in as soon as I've took ofT my coat and 
boots and put on some dry ones." 

Mrs. Gray ran back to attend upon Polly ; but 
before the deacon had got ready to enter the room, 
Mrs. Gray screamed again with the whole strength 
of her lungs, 

*• Mr. Gray, Mr. Gray, do make haste, she's in a fit." 

This was the first sound that had given the dea- 
con any uneasiness about the matter. He had been 
accustomed for years to hear his wife " worry" 
about Polly, and had heard her predict her death so 
often from very slight illness, that he had come to 
regard such scenes and such predictions with as 
little attention as he did the rain that pattered 
against the window. But the wordj^^ was some- 
thing he had never heard applied in these cases 
before, and the sound of it gave iiim a strange feel- 



86 JACK DOWNING S LETTERS. 

ing of apprehension. He had just thrown off his 
boots and put his feet into dry shoes, and held a 
dry coat in his hand, when this last appeal came to 
his ear and caused him actually to hasten into the 
room. 

" Polly, what's the matter now 1" said the dea- 
con, beginning to be somewhat agitated, as he ap- 
proached the bedside. 

Polly was in violent spasms, and heeded not the 
inquiry. The deacon took hold of her arm, and 
repeated the question more earnestly and in a ten- 
der tone. 

" You may as well speak to the dead," said Mrs. 
Gray ; " she's past hearing or speaking." 

The deacon's eyes looked wild, and his face 
grew very long. 

" Why didn't you tell me how sick she was 
when I first got home ?" said the deacon, with a 
look of rebuke. 

" I did tell you when you first come," said Mrs. 
Gray, sharply, " and you didn't take no notice on 
it." 

" You didn't tell me anything about how sick she 
was," said the deacon ; " you only spoke jest as you 
used to, when she w^asn't hardly sick at all." 

The subject here seemed to subside by mutual 
consent, and both stood with their eyes fixed upon 
Polly, who was apparently struggling in the fierce 
agonies of death. In a few minutes however she 
came out of the spasm, breathed comparatively 
easy, and lay perfectly quiet. The deacon spoke 
to her again. She looked up with a wild delirious 
look, but made no answer. 

" I'll go for the doctor," said the deacon, " it 
may be he can do something for her, though she 
looks to me as though it was a gone goose with 
her." 

Saying this, he put on his hat and coat and start- 



JACK DOWNING 'S LETTERS. 87 

ed. Having half a mile to go, and finding the doctor 
in bed, it was half an hour before he returned with 
Doctor Longley in his company. In the meantime 
Mrs. Gray had called in old Mrs. Livermore who 
lived next door, and they had lifted Polly up 
and put a clean pillow upon the bed, and a clean 
cap on her head, and had been round and " slicked 
up" the room a little, for Mrs. Livermore said, 
" Doctor Longley was such a nice man she always 
loved to see things look tidy where he was coming 
to." 

The deacon came in and hung his hat up behind 
the door, and Doctor Longley followed with his hat 
in his hand and a small pair of saddle-bags on his 
arm. Mrs. Gray stood at one side of the bed, and 
Mrs. Livermore at the other, and the doctor laid 
his hat and saddle-bags on the table that stood by 
the window, and stepped immediately to the bed- 
side. 

•' Miss Gray, are you sick ?" said the doctor, 
taking the hand of the patient. 

No answer or look from the patient gave any 
indication that she heard the question. 

" How long has she been ill 1" said the doctor. 

" Ever since mornin'," said Mrs. Gray. " She 
got up with a head -ache, jest after her father went 
away to market, and smart pains inside, and she's 
been growing worse all day." 

" And what have you given her ?" said the doctor. 

" Nothing, but arb-drink," said Mrs. Gray ; 
" whenever she felt worse, I made her take a good 
deal of arb-drink, because that, you know, is always 
good, doctor. And besides, when it can't do no 
good, it would do no hurt." 

But what sort of drinks have you given her?" 
said the doctor. 

" Well, I give her most all sorts, for we had a 
plenty of 'em in the house," said Mrs. Gray. " I 



88 JACK downing's letteks. 

give her sage, and peppermint, and sparemint, and 
cammermile, and pennyryal, and motherwort, and 
balm ; you know, balm is very coolin,' doctor, and 
sometimes she'd be very hot, and then I'd make her 
drink a good dose of balm." 

" Give me a candle," said the doctor. 

The deacon brought a candle and held it over 
the patient's head. The doctor opened her mouth 
and examined it carefully for the space of a minute. 
He felt her pulse another minute, and looked again 
into her mouth. 

" Low pulse, but heavy and labored respiration," 
said the doctor. 

" What do you think ails her ?" said Mrs. Gray. , 

The doctor shook his head. 

" Do you think you can give her anything to 
help her?" said the deacon anxiously. 

The doctor looked very grave, and fixed his eyes 
thoughtfully on the patient for a minute, but made 
no reply to the deacon's question. 

" Why didn't you send for me sooner ?" at last 
said the doctor, turning to Mrs. Gray. 

" Because I thought my arb-drink would help her, 
and so I kept trying it all day till it got to be dark, 
and then she got be so bad I didn't dare to leave 
her till Mr. Gray got home." 

" It's a great pity," said the doctor, tui'ning from 
the bed to the table and opening his saddle-bags. 
'• Thousands and thousands of lives are lost only by 
delaying to send for medical advice till it is too 
late ; thousands that might have been saved as well 
as not, if only taken in season." 

" But doctor, you don't think it's too late for Pol- 
ly, do you ?" said Mrs. Gray. 

" I think her case, to say the least, is extremely 
doubtful," said the doctor. " Her appearance is 
very remarkable. Whatever her disease is, it has 
made such progress, and life is so nearly extinct, 



JACK downing's letters. 80 

that it is impossible to tell what were the original 
symptoms, and consequently what applications are 
best to be made." 

" Well, now, doctor," said Mrs. Livermore, " ex- 
cuse me for speakin ; but I'm a good deal older 
than you are, and have seen a great deal of sick- 
ness in my day, and I've been in here with Polly a 
number of times to-day, and sometimes this even- 
ing, and I'm satisfied, doctor, there's something the 
matter of her insidcs." 

" Undoubtedly," said the doctor, looking very 
grave. 

This new hint from Mrs. Livermore seemed to 
give Mrs. Gray new hope, and she appealed again 
to the doctor. 

" Well, now, doctor," said she, " don't you think 
Mrs. Livermore has the right of it ?" 

" Most unquestionably," said the doctor. 

" Well, then, doctor, if you should give her some- 
thing that's pretty powerful to operate inwardly, 
don't you think it might help her ?" 

" It might, and it might not," said the doctor ; 
" the powers of life are so nearly exhausted, I must 
tell you frankly I have very little hope of being 
able to rally them. There is not life enough left to 
indicate the disease or show the remedies that are 
wanted. Applications now must be made entirely 
in the dark, and leave the effect to chance." 

At this, Mrs. Livermore took the candle and was 
proceeding to remove it from the room, when the 
doctor, perceiving her mistake, called her back. 
He did not mean to administer the medicine literal- 
ly in a dark room, but simply in a state of darkness 
and ignorance as to the nature of the disease. It 
was a very strange case ; it was certain life oould 
hold out but a short time longer ; he felt bound to 
do something, and therefore proceeded to prepare 
such applications and remedies as his best jndg- 



90 JACK downing's letters. 

ment dictated. These were administered without 
confidence, and their effect awaited with painful so- 
licitude. They either produced no perceptible ef- 
fect at all, or very different from the ordinary re- 
sults of such applications. 

" I should like," said Doctor Longley to the dea- 
con, " to have you call in Doctor Stubbs ; this is a 
very extraordinary case, and I should prefer that 
some other medical practitioner might be present." 

The deacon accordingly hastened to call Doc- 
tor Stubbs, a young man who had come into the 
place a short time before, with a high reputation, 
but not a favorite with the deacon and his family, 
on account of his being rather fresh from college, 
and full of modern innovations. 

After Doctor Stubbs had examined the patient, 

, and made various inquiries of the family, he and 

Doctor Longley held a brief consultation. Their 

united wisdom, however, was not sufficient to throw 

any light upon the case or to afford any relief. 

" Have you thought of poison ?" said Doctor 
Longley. 

" Yes," said Doctor Stubbs, " but there are cer- 
tain indications in the case, which forbid that alto- 
gether. Indeed, I can form no satisfactory opinion 
about it ; it is the most anomalous case I ever knew." 

Before their conference was brought to a close, 
the deacon called them, saying he believed Polly 
was a going. They came into the room and has- 
tened to the bed-side. 

" Yes," said Doctor Stubbs, looking at the pa- 
tient, " those are dying struggles ; in a short time 
all her troubles in this life will be over." 

The patient sunk gradually and quietly away, 
and in the course of two hours after the arrival of 
Doctor Stubbs, all signs of life were gone. 

" The Lord's will be done." said the deacon, as 



JACK downing's letters. 91 

he stood by the bed and saw her chest heave for 
the last time. 

Mrs. Gray sat m the corner of the room with her 
apron to her face weeping aloud. Old Mrs. Liver- 
more and two other females, who had been called 
in during the night, were already busily employed 
in preparing for laying out the corpse. 

It was about daybreak when the two doctors left 
the house and started for home. 

" Very singular case," said Doctor Stubbs, who 
spoke with more ease and freedom, now that they 
were out of the way of the afflicted family. " We 
ought not to give it up so, doctor ; we ought to fol- 
low this case up till we ascertain what was the 
cause of her death. What say to a post mortem 
examination ?" 

'• I always dislike them," said Doctor Longley; 
"they are ugly uncomfortable jobs ; and besides, I 
doubt whether the deacon's folks would consent to 
it." 

" It is important for us, as well as for the cause of 
the science," said Doctor Stubbs, " that something 
should be done about it. We are both young, and 
it may have an injurious bearing upon our reputa- 
tion if we are not able to give any explanation of 
the case. I consider my reputation at stake as well 
as yours, as I was called in for consultation. There 
will doubtless be an hundred rumors afloat, and the 
older physicians, who look upon us, you know, with 
rather an evil eye, will be pretty sure to lay hold of 
the matter and turn it greatly to our disadvantage, 
if we cannot show facts for our vindication. The 
deacon's folks must consent, and you had better go 
down after breakfast and have a talk with the dea- 
con about it." 

Doctor Longley felt the force of the reasoning 
and consented to go. Accordingly, after breakfast, 
he returned to Deacon Gray's, and kindly offered 



92 JACK downing's letters. 

his services, if there was any assistance he could 
render in making preparations for the funeral. The 
deacon felt much obliged to him, but didn't know 
as there was anything for which they particularly 
needed his assistance. The doctor then broached 
the subject of the very sudden and singular death of 
Polly, and how important it was for the living that 
the causes of such a sudden death should, if possi- 
ble, be ascertained, and delicately hinted that the 
only means of obtaining this information, so desira- 
ble for the benefit of the science and so valuable for 
all living, was by opening and examining the body 
after death. 

At this the deacon looked up at him with such an 
awful expression of holy horror, that the doctor 
saw at once it would be altogether useless to pur- 
sue the subject further. Accordingly, after advis- 
ing, on account of the warm weather and the pa- 
tient dying suddenly and in full blood, not to post- 
pone the funeral later than that afternoon, the doc- 
tor took his leave. 

" Well, what is the result ?" said Doctor Stubbs, 
as Doctor Longley entered his dooi'. 

" Oh, as I expected," said Doctor Longley. " The 
moment I hinted at the subject to the deacon, I saw 
by his looks, if it were to save his own life and the 
lives of all his friends, he never would consent to 
it." 

" Well, 'tis astonishing," said Doctor Stubbs, 
f that people who have common sense should have 
so little sense on a subject of this kind. I won't be 
baffled so. Doctor Longley ; I'll tell you what I'll 
do. What time is she to be buried ?" 

" This afternoon," said Doctor Longley. 

" In the burying ground by the old meeting-house 
up the road, I suppose," said Doctor Stubbs. 

" Yes, undoubtedly," replied Dr. Longley. 

" W"'l, I'll have that corpse taken up this night, 



JACK downtng's letters. 93 

and you may depend upon it,"' said Doctor Stubbs. 
'•I'll not only ascertain the cnuse of her death, but 
I want a subject for dissection, and she having died 
so suddenly will make an excellent one." 

Doctor Longley shuddered a little at the bold pro- 
ject of Doctor'Stubbs. " You know, doctor, there 
is a law against it," said he, " and besides, the bury- 
ing ground is in such a lonely place and surround- 
ed by woods, I don't believe you can find anybody 
with nerve enough to go there and take up a newly 
buried corpse in the night." 

" Let me alone for that," said Doctor Stubbs. 
" I know a chap that would do it every night in the 
week if 1 wanted him to ; a friend of mine down 
there in the college, in the senior class. He has 
nerve enough to go anywhere, and is up to a job of 
this kind at'any time. " The business is all arrang- 
ed, doctor, and I shall go through with it. Joe 
Palmer is the man for it, and Rufus Barnes will go 
with him. I'd go myself, but it would be more pru- 
dent for me to be at home, for in case of accident, 
and the thing should be discovered, suspicion would 
be likely to fall on me, and it would be important 
for me to be able to prove where I was. Rufus 
must go to the funeral and. see whereabouts the 
corpse is buried, so he can find the place in a dark 
night, and I shall have to go down to the college 
the first of the evening after Joe myself^ and get 
him started, and then come right home, and stay at 
home, so that I can prove an alibi in case of any 
questions. Don't I understand it. doctor ?" 

" Yes, full well enough," said Doctor Longley, 
"but I had rather vou would be in the scrape than 
I should." 

That evening, half an hour after dark, there was 
a light rap at Joe Palmer's door in the third story 
of one of the college buildings. The door was 
partly open, and Joe said " come in." No one en- 



94 JACK downing's letters, 

tered, but in a few moments the rap was heard 
again. " Come in." said Joe. Still no one enter- 
ed. Presently a figure, concealed under a cloak 
and with muffled face, appeared partly before the 
door, and said something in a low voice. Joe look- 
ed wild and agitated. Some college scrape, he 
thought, but what was the nature of it he could not 
divine. The figure looked mysterious. Presently 
the voice was heard again, and understood to utter 
the word Palmer. Joe was still more agitated, and 
looked at his chum most inquiringly. His chum 
stepped to the door and asked what was wanting. 
The figure drew back into the darkness of the hall, 
and answered in a faint voice, that he wanted Pal- 
mer. At last Palmer screwed his resolution up to 
the sticking point and ventured as far as the door, 
while his chum stepped back into the room. The 
figure again came forward and whispered to Pal- 
mer to come out, for he wanted to speak with him. 

" But who are you ?" said Palmer. 

The figure partially uncovered his face, and 
whispered " Doctor Stubbs." 

Palmer at once recognized him, and stepped back 
as bold as a lion, and took his hat and went out. 
In a few minutes he returned and told his chum, 
with rather a mysterious air, that he was going out 
with a friend to be gone two or three" hours, that 
he need not feel uneasy about him, and might leave 
the door unfastened for him till he returned. 

Doctor Stubbs, having given Joe and Rufus full 
dii'ections how to proceed, telling them^ to get a 
large wide chaise, so that they could manage to 
carry the corpse conveniently, and informing them 
where they could find spades and shovels deposited 
by the side of the road for the purpose, left them 
and hastened home. 

"Well now, Rufe," said Joe, " we'll just go over 
to Jake Rider's and get one of his horses and chaise. 



JACK downing's letters. 95 

But we needn't be in a hurry, for we don't want 
to get there much before midnight ; and we'll go 
into the store here and get a drink of brandy to be- 
gin with, for this kind of business needs a little stim- 
ulus." 

Having braced their nerves with a drink of bran- 
dy, they proceeded to Jacob Rider's. 

"Jake, give us a horse and chaise to take a ride 
three or four hours," said Joe. " You needn't mind 
setting up for us ; we'll put the horse up when we 
come back, and take good care of him ; we know 
where to put him. We don't want a nag ; an old 
steady horse that will give us an easv pleasant 
ride." 

" Old Tom is jest the horse you want," said Ja- 
cob, " and there's a good easy going chaise." 

" That chaise isn't wide enough," said Joe ; "give 
us the widest one you've got." 

" But that's plenty wide enough for two to ride 
in," said Jacob ; " I don't see what you want a wi- 
der chaise than that for." 

" Oh, I like to have plenty of elbow room," said 
Joe. 

" Maybe you are going to have a lady to ride 
with you," said Jacob. 

Joe laughed, and whispered to Rufus that Jake 
had hit nearer the mark than he was aware of. 

Jacob selected another chaise. " There is one," 
said he " wide enough for three to ride in, and even 
four upon a pinch." 

" That'll do," said Joe ; " now put in old Tom." 

The horse was soon harnessed, and Joe and Ru- 
fus jumped into the chaise and drove off." 

" Confound these college chaps," said Jacob to 
himself as they drove out of the yard ; " they are 
always a sky-larkin' somewhere or other. There's 
one thing in it though, they pay me well for my 
horses. But these two fellows wanting such a' 



96 JACK DOWNING 'S LETTERS. 

broad chaise ; they are going to have a real frolic 
somewhere to night. I've a plaguy good min-d to 
jump on to one of the horses and follow, and see 
what sort of snuff they are up to. It's so dark I 
could do it just as well as not, without the least dan- 
ger of their seeing me." 

No sooner thought than done. Jake at once 
mounted one of his horses, and followed the chaise. 
There was no moon, and the night was cloudy and 
dark ; but a slight rattle in one of the wheels of the 
chaise, enabled him easily to follow it, though en- 
tirely out of sight. Having gone about two miles 
the chaise stopped at the corner, about a hundred 
rods from the house of Dr. Stubbs. Jake got off 
and hitched his horse, and crept carefully along by 
the side of the fence to see what was done there. 
By stooping down and looking up against a clear 
patch of sky, he could see one of the two leave the 
chaise and go to the fence by the side of the road 
and return again, carrying something in his arms to 
the chaise. He repeated this operation twice ; but 
what he carried Jake could not discern. Perhaps 
it might be some baskets of refreshments. They 
were going off to some house to have a frolic. The 
chaise moved on again, and Jake mounted his horse 
and followed. They went up the road till they 
came to the old meeting-house ; they passed it a 
little, and came against the old burying ground. 
The chaise stopped and Jake stopped. The chaise 
stood still for the space of about five minutes, and 
there was not the least sound to be heard in any di- 
rection. At last, from the little rattle of the chaise 
wheel, he perceived they were moving at a moder- 
ate walk. They came to the corner of the bury- 
ing ground, and turned a little out of the road and 
sto.pped the chaise under the shadow of a large 
spreading tree, where it could not be perceived by 



JACK downing's letters. 97 

any one passing in the road, even should the clouds 
brush away and leave it starlight. 

" It is very odd," thought Jake, " that they should 
stop at such a place as this in a dark night ; the last 
place in the world I should think of stopping at." 

Jake dismounted and hitched his horse a little 
distance, and crept carefully up to watch their move- 
ments. They took something out of. the chaise, 
passed along by the fence, went through the little 
gate, and entered the burying ground. Here a new 
light seemed to flash upon Jake's mind. 

" I hope no murder has been committed," thought 
he to himself; " but it's pretty clear something is to 
be buried here to-night that the world must know 
nothing about." 

Jake was perplexed, and in doubt as to what he 
should do. He had some conscience, and felt as 
though he ought to investigate the matter, and put 
a stop to the business if anything very wicked was 
going on. But then there were other considera- 
tions that weighed on the other side. If murder 
had been committed it was within the range of pos- 
sibility, and not very unreasonable to suppose, that 
murder might be committed again to conceal it. 
There were two of them, and he was alone. It 
might not be entirely safe for him to interfere. He 
would hardly care to be thrown into a grave and 
buried there that night. And then, again, Jake was 
avaricious, and wouldn't care to break friends with 
those college fellows, for they paid him a good deal 
of money. On the whole, he was resolved to keep 
quiet and see the end of the matter. 

Joe and Rufus walked two-thirds of the way 
across the burying ground and stopped. Jake fol- 
lowed at a c-areful distance, and when he found 
they had stopped, he crept slowly up on the darkest 
side, so near that, partly by sight and partly by 
sound, he could discover what took place. There 
7 



98 JACK downing's letteks. 

was not a loud word spoken, though he occasion- 
ally heard them whisper to each other. Then he 
heard the sound of shovels and the moving of gravel. 

" It is true," said Jake to himself, " they are dig- 
ging a grave !" and the cold sweat started on his 
forehead. Still he resolved to be quiet and see it 
all through. Once or twice they stopped and seem- 
ed to be listening, as though they thought they 
heard some noise. Then he could hear them whis- 
per to each other, but could not understand what 
they said. After they had been digging and throw- 
ing out gravel some time, he heard a sound like the 
light knock of a shovel upon the lid of a coffin. 

" Take care," said Joe, in a very loud whisper, 
" it'll never do to make such a noise as that ; it 
could be heard almost half a mile ; do be more care- 
ful." 

Again they pursued their work, and occasional- 
ly a hollow sound like a shovel scraping over a cof- 
fin was heard. At length their work of throwing 
out gravel seemed to be completed ; and then there 
was a pause for some time, interrupted occasional- 
ly by sounds of screwing, and wedging, and wrench- 
ing; and at last they seemed to be lifting some 
heavy substance out of the grave. They carried 
it toward the gate. Jake was lying almost upon 
the ground, and as they passed near him, he could 
perceive they were carrying some white object 
about the length and size of a corpse. They went 
out at the gate and round to the chaise ; and pre- 
sently they returned again, and appeared by their 
motions and the sound to be filling up the grave. 
Jake took this opportunity to go and examine the 
chaise ; and sure enough he found there a full-sized 
corpse, wrapped in a white sheet, lying in the cen- 
tre of the chaise, the feet resting on the floor, the 
body leaning across the s^at, and the head resting 
against the centre of the back part of the chaise. 



JACK DOWNING 'S LETTERS. 99 

" Only some scrape of the Doctor's after all," said 
Jake to himself, who now began to breathe some- 
what easier than he had done for some time past. 
"But it's rather shameful business, though; this 
must be Deacon Gray's daughter, I'm sure ; and it's 
a shame to treat the old man in this shabby kind of 
way. I'll put a stop to this, anyhow. Polly Gray 
was too good a sort of a gal to be chopped up like 
a quarter of beef, according to my way of thinking, 
and it shan't be." 

Jake then lifted the corpse out of tha chaise, car- 
ried it a few rods farther from the road, laid it down, 
took off the winding sheet, wrapped it carefully 
round himself, went back and got into the chaise, 
and placed himself exactly in the position in which 
the corpse had been left. He had remained in that 
situation but a short time before Joe and Rufus, 
having filled up the grave and made all right there, 
came and seated themselves in the chaise, one on 
each side of the corpse, and drove slowly and qui- 
etly off. 

" I'm glad it's over," said Rufus, fetching^ long 
breath. " My heart's been in my mouth the whole 
time. I thought I heard somebody coming half a 
, dozen times; and then it's such a dismal, gloomy 
place too. You wouldn't catch me there again, in 
such a scrape, I can tell you." 

" Well, I was calm as clock-work the whole 
time," said Joe. " You should have such pluck as 
I've got, Rufe; nothing ever frightens me." 

At that moment the chaise wheel struck a stone, 
and caused the corpse to roll suddenly against Joe. 
He clapped up his hand to push it a little back, and 
instead of a cold clammy corpse, he felt his hand 
pressed against a warm face of live flesh. As 
quick as though he had been struck by lightning, 
Joe dropped the reins, and with one bound sprang 



100 JACK downing's letteks. 

a rod from the chaise and ran for his Hfe. Rufas, 
without knowing the cause of this strange and sud- 
den movement, sprang from the other side with al- 
most equal agility, and followed Joe with his ut- 
most speed. They scarcely stopped to take breath 
till they had run two miles and got into Joe's room 
at the college, and shut the door and locked them- 
selves in. Here, having sworn Joe's chum to se- 
crecy, they began to discuss the matter. But con- 
cerning the very strange warmth of the corpse they 
could come to no satisfactory conclusion. V/heth- 
er it could be, that they had not actually takeni up 
the corpse from the grave, but before they had got 
down to it some evil spirit had come in the shape 
of the corpse and deceived them, or whether it was 
actually the corpse, and it had come to life, or 
whether it was the ghost of Polly Gray, were ques- 
tions they could not. decide. They agreed, how- 
ever, to go the next morning by sunrise on to the 
ground, and see what discoveries they could make. 

When Jacob Rider found himself alone in the 
chaisd*, being con\^inced that Joe and Rufus would 
not come back to trouble him that night, he turned 
about and drove back to the burying ground. 

" Now," said Jake, " I think the best thing I can 
do, for all concerned, is to put Polly Gray back 
where she belongs, and there let her rest." 

Accordingly Jake went to work and opened the 
grave again, carried the corpse and replaced it as 
well as he could, and filled up the grave and round- 
ed it off in good order. He then took his horses and 
chaise and returned home, well satisfied with his 
night's work. 

The next morning, some time before sunrise, and 
before any one were stirring in the neighborhood, 
Joe and Rufus was at the old burying ground. 
They went round the inclosure, went to the tree 
where they had fastened their horse, and looked on 



JACK downing's letters. 101 

every side, but discovered nothing. They vrent 
through the gate, and across to the grave where 
they had been the night before. The grave look- 
ed ail right, as though it had not been touched since 
the funeral. They could see nothing of the horse 
or chaise, and they concluded if the corpse or evil 
spirit, or whatever it was in the chaise, had left the 
horse to himself, he probably found his way direct- 
ly home. They thought it best therefore immedi- 
ately to go and see Jake, and make some kind of 
an explanation. So they went over immediately to 
Jake's stable, and found the horse safe in his stall. 
Presently Jake made his appearance. 

" Well, your confounded old horse," said Joe, 
" wouldn't stay hitched last night. He left us in 
the lurch, and we had to come home afoot. I see 
he's come home, though. Chaise all right, I hope." 

" Yes, all right," said Jake. 

" Well, how much for the ride," said Joe, " see- 
ing we didn't ride but one way ?" 

" Seeing you rode part loay back," said Jake, " I 
shall charge you fifty dollars." ♦ 

Joe started and looked round, but a knowing leer 
in Jake's eye convinced him it was no joke. He 
handed Jake the fifty dollars, at the same tune plac- 
ing his finger emphatically across his lips ; and Jake 
took the fifty dollars, whispering in Joe's ear, " dead 
folks tell no tales." Jake then pat his finger across 
his lips, and Joe and Rufus bade him good morn- 
ing. 



102 JACK downing's letters. 

CHRISTOPHER CROTCHET! 

THE SINGING-MASTER. 

BY SEBA SMITH. 

Your New England country singing-master is a 
peculiar character; who shall venture to describe 
him 1 During his stay in a country village, he is 
the most important personage in it. The common 
school-master, to be siire, is a man of dignity and 
importance. Children never pass him on the road, 
without turning square round, pulling off their hats, 
and making one of their best and most profound 
bows. He is looked up to with universal deference 
both by young and old, and is often invited out to 
tea. Or, if he "boards round," great is the parade, 
and great the preparation, by each family, when 
their "week for boarding the master" draws near. 
Then ifbt unfrequently a well fatted porker is killed, 
and the spare ribs ai'e duly hung round the pantry 
in readiness for roasting. A half bushel of sausa- 
ges are made up into " links," and suspended on a 
pole near the ceiling from one end of the kitchen 
to the other. And the Saturday beforehand, if the 
school-master is to come on Monday, the work of 
preparation reaches its crisis. Then it is, that the 
old oven, if it be not "beaten seven tiroes hotter 
than it is wont to be," is at least heated seven times ; 
and apple-pies, and pumpkin-pies, and mince-pies 
are turned out by dozens, and packed .away in 
closet and cellar for the coming week. And the 
" fore room," which has not had a fire in it for the 
winter, is now duly washed and scrubbed and put 
to rights, and wood is heaped on the fire with a 



JACK dowking's letters. 103 

liberal hand, till the room itself becomes almost 
another oven. George is up betimes on Monday 
morning to go with his hand-sled and bring the 
master's trunk ; Betsey and Sally are rigged out in 
the best calico gowns, the little ones have their 
faces washed and their hair combed with more than 
ordinary care, and the mother's cap has an extra 
crimp. And all this stir and preparation for the 
common school-master. And yet he is but an 
every-day planet, that moves in a regular orbit, and 
comes round at least every winter. 

But the singing-master is your true comet. Ap- 
pearing at no regular intervals, he comes suddenly, 
and often unexpected. Brilliant, mysterious and 
erratic, no wonder that he attracts all eyes, and 
produces a tremendous sensation. Not only the 
children, but the whole family, flock to the windows 
when he passes, and a face may be seen at every 
pane of glass, eagerly peering out to catch a 
glimpse of the singing-master. Even the very 
dogs seem to partake of the awe he inspires, and 
bark with uncommon fierceness whenever they 
meet him. , 

•' O, father," said little Jimmy Brown, as he came 
running into the house on a cold December night, 
with eyes staring wide open, and panting for breath, 
" O, father, Mr. Christopher Crotchet from Quaver- 
town, is over to Mr. Gibbs' tavern, come to see 
about keeping singing- school ; and Mr. Gibbs, and 
a whole parcel more of 'em, wants you to come 
right over there, cause they're goin' to have a 
meeting this evening to see about hiring of him," 

Squire Brown and his family, all except Jimmy, 
were seated round the supper table when this inter- 
esting piece of intelligence was announced. Every 
one save Squire Brown himself, gave a sudden 
start, and at once suspended operations ; but the 
Squire, who was a very moderate man, and never 



104 JACK downtng's letteks. 

did anything from impulse, ate on without turning 
his head, or changing his position. After a short 
pause, however, which was a moment of intense 
anxiety to some members of the family, he replied 
to Jimmy as follows: — 

" I shan't do no sich thing ; if they want a sing- 
ing-school, they may get it themselves. A singing- 
school wont do us no good, and I've ways enough 
to spend my money without paying it for singing." 
Turning his head round and casting a severe look 
upon Jimmy, he proceeded with increasing energy : 

" Now, Sir, hang your hat up and set down and 
eat your supper ; I should like to know what sent 
you off over to the tavern without leave." 

" I wanted to see the singing-master," said Jim- 
my. "Sam Gibbs said there was a singing-master 
over to their house, and so I wanted to see him." 

"Well, I'll singing-master you," said the Squire, 
"if I catch you to go olF so again without leave. 
Come, don't stand there ; set down and eat your 
supper, or I'll trounce you in two minutes." 

" There, I declare," said Mrs. Brown, " I do think 
it too bad. I do wish I could live in peace one 
moment of my life. The children will be spoilt 
and ruined. They never can stir a step nor hardly 
breathe, but what they must be scolded and fretted 
to death." 

Squire Brown had been accustomed to these 
sudden squalls about twenty- five years, they having 
commenced some six months or so after his mar- 
riage ; and long experience had taught him, that 
the only way to escape with safety, was' to bear 
away immediately and scud before the wind. Ac- 
cordingly he turned again to Jimmy, and with a 
much softened tone addressed him as follows : — 

" Come, Jimmy, my son, set down and eat your 
supper, that's a good boy. You shouldn't go away 



JACK downixg's letters. 105 

without asking your mother or me ; but you'll try 
to remember next time, won't you ?" 

Jimmy and his mother were both somewhat 
soothed by this well-timed suavity, and the boy 
took his seat at the table. 

"jN'ow, pa." said Miss Jerusha Brown, "you will 
go over and see about having a singing-school, 
won't you ? I want to go dreadfully ?" 

" Oh, I can't do anything about that," said the 
Squire ; " it'll cost a good deal of money, and I 
can't afford it. And besides, there's no use at all in 
it. You can sing enough now, any of you ; you 
are singing half your time." 

" There," said Mrs. Brown, " that's just the way. 
Our children will never have a chance to be any- 
thing as long as they live. Other folks' children 
have a chance to go to singing-schools, and to see 
young company, and to be something in the world. 
Here's our Jerusha has got to be in her twenty- 
fifth year now, and if she's ever going to have 
young company, and have a chance to be anything, 
she must have it soon ; for she'll be past the time 
bime-by for sich things. 'Tisn't as if we was poor 
and couldn't afford it; for you know, Mr. Brown, 
you pay the largest tax of anybody in the town, 
and can afford to give the children a chance to be 
someiliing in the world, as well as not. And as for 
living in this kind of way anv longer, I've no notion 
on't.". 

Mrs. Brown knew how to follow up an advan- 
tage. She had got her husband upon the retreat 
in the onset a moment before, in reference to Jim- 
my's absence, and the closing part of this last 
speech was uttered with an energy and determina- 
tion, of which Squire Brown knew too well the 
import to disregard it. Perceiving that a storm 
was brewing that would burst upon his head with 
tremendous power, if he did not take care to avoid 



106 JACK DOWXmG-'S LETTERS. 

it, he finished his supper with all convenient des- 
patch, rose from the table, put on his great-coat 
and hat, and marched deliberately over to Gibbs' 
tavern. Mrs. Brown knew at once, that she had 
won the victory, and that they should have a sing- 
ing-school. The children also had become so well 
versed in the science of their mother's tactics, that 
the}^ understood the same thing, and immediately 
began to discuss matters preparatory to attending 
the school. 

Miss Jerusha said she must have her new calico 
gown made right up, the next day ; and her mother 
said she should, and David might go right over af- 
ter Betsey Davis to come to work on it the next 
morning. 

" How delightful it will be to have a singing- 
school," said Miss Jerusha : " Jimmy, what sort of 
a looking mafi is Mr. Crotchet 1" 

" Oh, he is a slick kind of a looking man," said 
Jimmy. 

" Is he a young man, or a married man ?" inquir- 
ed Miss Jerusha. 

" Ho ! married ? no ; I guess he isn't," said 
Jimmy, " I don't believe he's more than twenty 
years old." 

" Poh ; I don't believe that story," said Jerusha, 
" a singing-master must be as much as twenL_y-iive 
years old, I know ! How is he dressed ? Isn't he 
dressed quite genteel 1" 

" Oh, he's dressed pretty slick," said Jimmy. 

" Well, that's what makes him look so young," 
said Miss Jerusha ; " I dare say he's as much as 
twentv-five years old ; don't you think he is, moth- 
er ?" " 

" Well, I think it's pretty likely he is," said Mrs. 
Brown ; " singing-masters are generally about that 
age." 



JACK downing's letters, 107 

" How does he look ?" said Miss Jerusha ; " is he 
handsome ?" 

" He's handsome enough," said Jimmy, " only he's 
got a red head and freckly face." 

" Now, Jim, I don't believe a word you say. You 
are saying this, only just to plague me." 

To understand the propriety of this last remark 
of Miss Jerusha, the reader should be informed, that 
for the last ten years she had looked upon every 
young man who came into the place, as her own 
peculiar property. And in all cases, in order to 
obtain possession of her aforesaid property, she had 
adopted prompt measures, and pursued them with 
a dihgence worthy of all praise. 

"No I ain't neither," said Jimmy, "I say he has 
got a red head and freckly face." 

" La, well," said Mrs. Brown, " what if he has 1 
I'm sure a red head don't look bad; and one of 
the handsomest men that ever I see, had a freckly 
face." 

" Well, Jimmy, how large is he? Is he a tall 
man, or a short man ?" said Miss Jerusha. 

" Why, he isn't bigger round than I be," said 
Jimmy ; " and I guess he isn't quite as tall as a hay- 
pole : but he's so tall he has to stoop when he goes 
into the door." 

So I'ar from adding to the shock, which Miss Jeru- 
sha's nerves had already received from the account 
of the red head and freckly face, this last piece of 
intelligence was on the whole rather consolatory ; 
for she lacked but an inch and a half of six feet in 
height herself. 

'• Well, Jimmy," said Miss Jerusha, " when he 
stands up, take him altogether, isn't he a good-look- 
ing young man?" 

" I don't know anything about that," said Jimmy ; 
"he looks the most like" the tongs in the riddle, of 
anything I can think of: 



108 JACK downing's lettees. 

' Long legs and crooked thighs, 
Little head and no eyes.' " 

" There, Jim, you little plague," said Miss Jeru- 
sha, " you shall go right off to bed, if you don't 
leave off your noDsense. I won't hear another word 
of it." 

" I don't care it you won't," said Jimmy, " it's all 
true, every word of it." 

"What! then the singing-muster hasn't got no 
eyes, has he ?" said Miss Jerusha ; " that's a pretty 
story." 

" I don't mean, he hasn't got no eyes at all," said 
Jimmy, " only his eyes are dreadful little, and you 
can't see but one of 'em to time neither, they're 
twisted round so." 

" A little cross-eyed, I s'pose," said Mrs. Brown, 
" that's all ; I don't think that hurts the looks of a 
man a bit ; it only makes him look a little sharp- 
er." 

While these things were transpiring at Mr. 
Brown's, matters of weight and importance were 
being discussed at the tavern. About a dozen of 
the neighbors had collected there early in the even- 
ing, and every one, as soon as he found that Mr. 
Christopher Crotchet from Quavertown was in the 
village, was for having a singing-school forthwith, 
cost what it would. They accoi-dingly proceeded 
at once to ascertain Mr. Crotchet's terms. His 
proposals were, to keep twenty evenings for twenty 
dollars and " found," or for thirty and board him- 
self. The school to be kept three evenings in a 
week. A subscription-paper was opened, and the 
sum of fifteen dollars was at last made up. But 
that was the extent to which they could go ; not 
another dollar could be raised. Much anxiety was 
now felt for the arrival of Squire Brown ; for the 
question of school or no school depended entirely 
on him. 



' . JACK downing's letters. 109 

*• Squire Brown's got money enough," said Mr. 
Gibbs, '• and if he only has the will, we shall have a 
school." 

" Not exactly," said Mr. Jones ; ." if Mrs. Brown 
has the will, we shall have a school, let the Squire's 
will be what it may." 

Before the laugh occasioned by this last remark 
had fully subsided, Squire Brown entered, much to 
the joy of the whole company. 

'' Squire Brown, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. 
Gibbs ; " shall I introduce you to Mr. Christopher 
Crotchet, singing-master from Quavertown. 

The Squire was a very short man, somewhat in- 
clined to corpulence, and Mr. Crotchet, according 
to Jimmy's account, was not quite as tall as a hay- 
pole ; so that by dint of the Squire's throwing his 
head back and looking up, and Mr. Crotchet's cant- 
ing his head on one side in order to bring one eye 
to bear on the Squire, the parties were brought 
within each other's field of vision. The Squire 
made a bow,. which was done by throwing his head 
upward, and Mr. Crotchet returned the compliment 
by extending his arm downward to the Squire and 
shaking hands. 

When the ceremony of introduction was over, 
Mr. Gibbs laid the whole matter before Mr. Brown, 
showed him the subscription-paper, and told him 
they were all depending upon him to decide wheth- 
er they should have a singing-school or not. Squire 
Brown put on his spectacles and read the subscrip- 
tion-paper over two or three times, till he fully un- 
derstood the terms, and the deficiency in the amount 
subscribed. Then without saying a word, he took 
a pen and deliberately subscribed five dollars. 
That settled the business i the desired sum was 
raised, and the school was to go ahead. It was 
agreed that it should commence on the following 
evening, and that Mr. Crotchet should board with 



110 JACK downing's letters. 

Mr. Gibbs one week, with the Squire the next, and 
so go round through the neighborhood. 

On the following day there was no small com- 
motion among the young folks of the village, in 
making preparation for the evening school. New 
singing-books were purchased, dresses were pre- 
pared, curling-tongs and crimping-irons were put 
in requisition, and early in the evening the long 
chamber in Gibbs' tavern, which was called by way 
of eminence " the hall," was well filled by youth of 
both sexes, the old folks not being allowed to at- 
tend that evening, lest the " boys and gals " should 
be diffident about " sounding the notes." A range 
of long narrow tables was placed round three sides 
of the hall, with benches behind them, upon which 
the youth were seated. A singing-book and a can- 
dle were shared by two, all round the room, till you 
came to Miss Jerusha Brown, who had taken the 
uppermost seat, and monopolized a whole book and 
a whole candle to her own use. Betsey Buck, a 
lively, reckless sort of a girl of sixteen, who cared 
for nobody nor nothing in this world, but was full 
of frolic and fun, had by chance taken a seat next 
to Miss Jerusha. Miss Betsey had a slight inward 
turn of orte eye, just enough to give her a roguish 
look, that comported well with her character. — 
While they were waiting for the entrance of the 
master, many a suppressed laugh, and now and then 
an audible giggle, passed round the room, the mere 
ebullitions of buoyant spirits and contagious mirth, 
without aim or object. Miss Jerusha, who was try- 
ing to behave her prettiest, repeatedly chided their 
rudeness, and more than once told Miss Betsey 
Buck, that she ought to be ashamed to be laughing 
so raUch ; " for what would Mr. Crotchet think, if 
he should come in and find them all of a giggle ?" 

After a while the door opened, and Mr. Christo- 
pher Crotchet entered. He bent his body slightly 



JACK DOWNINft'S LETTERS. Ill 

as he passed the door, to prevent a concussion of 
his head against the Hntel, anfl then walked very 
erect into the middle of thfe floor, and made a short 
speech to his class. His grotesque appearance 
caused a slight tittering round the room, and Miss 
Betsey was even guilty of an incipient audible 
laugh, which however she had the tact so far to 
turn into a cough as to save appearances. Still it 
was observed by Miss Jerusha, who told her again 
in a low whisper that she ought to be ashamed, and 
added that "Mr, Crotchet was a most spleiidi-d man ; * 
a beautiful man." 

After Mr. Crotchet had made his introductory 
speech, he proceeded to try the voices of his pupils, 
making each one alone follow him in rising and fall- 
ing the notes. He passed round without difficulty 
till he came to Miss Betsey Buck. She rather hes- 
itated to let her voice be heard alone ; but the mas- 
ter told her she must sound, and holding his head 
down so close to hers that they almost met, he com- 
menced pouring his faw, sole, law, into her ear. 
Miss Betsey drew back a little, but followed with a 
low and somewhat tremulous voice, till she had 
sounded three or four notes, when her risible mus- 
cles got the mastery, and she burst out in an unre- 
strained fit of laughter. 

The master looked confused and cross ; and Miss 
Jerusha even looked crosser than the master. She 
again reproached Miss Betsey for her rudeness, and 
told her in an emphatic whisper, which was intend- 
ed more especially for the master's ear, " that such 
conduct was shameful, and if she couldn't behave 
better she ought to stay at home." 

Miss Jerusha's turn to sound came next, and she 
leaned her head full half way across the table to 
meet the masters, and sounded the notes clear 
through, three or four times over, from bottom to 
top and from top to bottom; and sounded them 



112 JACK downing's letters. 

with a loudness and strength fully equal to that of 
the master. 

When the process of sounding the voices sep- 
arately had been gone through with, they were 
called upon to sound together.; and before the close 
of the evening they were allowed to commence the 
notes of some easy tunes. It is unnecessary here 
to give a detailed account of the progress that was 
made, or to attempt to describe the jargon of strange 
sounds, with which Gibbs' hall echoed that night. 
Suffice it to say, that the proficiency of the pupils 
' was so great, that on the tenth evening, or when 
the school was half through, the parents were per- 
mitted to be present, and were delighted to hear 
their children sing Old Hundred, Mear, St. Martin, 
Northfield, and Hallowell, with so much accuracy, 
that those who knew the tunes, could readily tell, 
every time, which one was being performed. Mrs. 
Brown was almost in ecstacies at the performance, 
and sat the whole evening and looked at Jerusha, 
who sung with great earnestness and with a voice 
far above all the rest. Even Squire Brown him- 
self was so much softened that evening, that his 
face wore a sort of smile, and he told his wife " he 
didn't grudge his five dollars, a bit." 

The school went on swimmingly. Mr. Crotchet 
became the lion of the village ; and Miss Jerusha 
Brown " thought he improved upon acquaintance 
astonishingly." Great preparation was made at 
Squire Brown's for the important week of boarding 
the singing-master. They outdid all the yillage in 
the quantity and variety of their eatables, and at 
every meal Miss Jerusha was particularly assidu- 
ous in placing all the good things in the neighbor- 
hood on Mr. Crotchet's plate. In fact, so bountiful- 
ly and regularly was Mr. Crotchet stufied during 
the week, that his lank form began to assume a per- 
ceptible fulness. He evidently seemed very fond 



JACK downing's lettees. 113 

of his boarding place, especially at meal time ; and 
made himself so much at home, that Mrs. Brown 
and Jerusha were in a state of absolute felicity the 
whole week. It was true he spent two evenings 
abroad during the week, and it was reported that 
one of them was passed at Mr. Buck's. But Miss 
Jerusha would not believe a word of such a story. 
She said " there was no young folks at Mr. Buck's 
except Betsey, and she was sure Mr. Crotchet was 
a man of more sense than to spend his evenings 
with such a wild, rude thing as Betsey Buck." 
Still, however, the report gave her a little uneasi- 
ness ; and when it was ascertained, that during the 
week on which Mr. Crotchet boarded at Mr. Buck's 
he spent every evening at home, except the three 
devoted to the sincrine-school, Miss Jerusha's un- 
easiness evidently increased. She resolved to make 
a desperate effort to counteract these untoward in- 
fluences, and to teach Miss Betsey Buck not to in- 
terfere with other folk's concerns. For this pur- 
pose she naade a grand evening party, and invited 
all the young folks of the village, except Miss Buck, 
who was pointedly left out. The treat was elabo- 
rate for, a country village, and Miss Jerusha was 
uncommonly assiduous in her attentions to Mr. 
Crotchet during the evening. But to her inexpres- 
sible surprise and chagrin, about eight o'clock, Mr. 
Crotchet put on his hat and great coat and bade the 
company good night. Mrs. Brown looked very 
blue, and Miss Jerusha's nerves were in a state of 
high excitement. What could it mean? She 
would give anything in the world to know where 
he had gone. She ran up into the chamber and 
looked out from the window. The night was ra- 
ther dark, but she fancied she saw him making his 
way toward Mr. Buck's. The company for the re- 
mainder of the evening had rather a dull time ; and 
Miss Jerusha passed almost a sleepless night. 



114 JACK downing's lettees. 

The next evening Miss Jerusha was early at the 
singing-school. She took her seat with a disconso- 
late air, opened her singing-book and commenced 
singing Hallowell in the following words : 

" As on some lonely building's top, 

The sparrow tells her moan, 
Far from the tents of joy and hope, 

I sit and grieve alone." 

On former occasions, when the scholars were 
singing before school commenced, the moment the 
master opened the door they broke off short, even 
if they were in the midst of a tune. But now, when 
the master entered. Miss Jerusha kept on singing. 
She went through the whole tune after Mr. Crotch- 
et came in, and went back and repeated the latter 
half of it with a loud and full voice, which caused a 
laugh among the scholars, and divers streaks of red 
to pass over the master's face. 

At the close of the evening's exercises Miss Je- 
rusha hurried on her shawl and bonnet, and watch- 
ed the movements of the master. She perceived 
he went out directly after Betsey Buck, and she 
hastened after them v/ith becoming speed. She 
contrived to get between Miss Buck and the mas- 
ter as they walked along the road, and kept Mr. 
Crotchet in close conversation with her, or rather 
kept herself in close conversation with Mr. Crotch- 
et, till they came to the corner that turned down to 
Mr. Buck's house. Here Mr. Crotchet left her 
somewhat abruptly, and walked by the side of Miss 
Betsey toward Mr. Buck's. This was more than 
Miss Jerusha's nerves could well bear* She was 
under too much excitement to proceed on her way 
home. She stopped and gazed after the couple as 
they receded from her ; and as their forms became 
indistinct in the darkness of the night, she turned 
and followed them, just keeping them in view till 
they reachnd the house. The door opened, and to 



JACK downing's letters. 115 

her inexpressible horror, they both went in. It was 
past ten o'clock, too ! She was greatly puzzled. 
The affair was entirely inexplicable to her. It could 
not be, however, that he would stop many minutes, 
and she waited to see the result. Presently a light 
appeared in the "fore-room;" and from the mellow- 
ness of that light a fire Was evidently kindled there. 
Miss Jcrusha approached the house and reconnoi- 
tred. She tried to look in at the window, but a 
thick curtain effectually prevented her from seeing 
anything within. The curtain did not reach quite 
to the top of the window, and she thought she saw 
the shadows of two persons before the fire, thrown 
against the ceiling. She was determined by some 
means or other to know the worst of it. She look- 
ed round the door-yard and found a long piece of 
board. She thought by placing this against the 
house by the side of the window, she might be able 
to climb up and look over the top of the curtain. 
The board was accordingly raised on one end and 
placed carefully by the side of the window, and Miss 
Jerusha eagerly commenced the task of climbing. 
She had reached the top of the curtain and cast one 
glance into the room, where, sure enough, she be- 
held Mr. Crotchet seated close by the side of Miss 
Betsey. At this interesting moment, from some 
cause or other, either from her own trembling, for 
she was exceedingly agitated, or from the board 
not being properly supported at the bottom, it slip- 
ped and canted, and in an instant one half of the 
window was dashed with a tremendous crash into 
the room. 

Miss Jerusha fell to the ground, but not being 
much injured by the fall, she sprang to her feet and 
ran with the fleetness of a wild deer. The door 
opened, and out came Mr. Crotchet and Mr. Buck, 
and started in the race. They thought they had a 
glimpse of some person running up the road when 



"^16 JACK downinq's letters. 

they first came out, and Mr. Crotchet's long legs 
measured off the ground with remarkable velocity. 
But the fright had added so essentially to Miss Je- 
rusha's powers of locomotion, that not even Mr. 
Crotchet could overtake her, and her pursuers soon 
lost sight of her in the darkness of the night, and 
gave up the chase and returned home. 

Miss Jerusha was not seen at the singing-school 
after this, and Mrs. Brown said she stayed at home 
because she had a cough. Notwithstanding there 
were many rumors and surmises afloat, and some 
slanderous insinuations thrown out against Miss Je- 
rusha Brown, yet it was never ascertained by the 
neighbors, for a certainty, who it was that demol- 
ished Mr. Buck's window. 

One item farther remains to be added to this ve- 
ritable history ; and that is, that in three months 
from this memorable night. Miss Betsey Buck be- 
came Mi's. Crotchet of Quavertown. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

BY MAJOR DOWNING. 

When a lady or a politician writes a letter, you may gener- 
ally expect the most important idea to come into the post- 
script, jest as the newspaper folks put in a postscript for the 
latest news, and sometimes " stop the press" to announce it. 
Whether my postscript here will be the most important thing 
in the book, is not for me to say ; but it is the latest news, so 
I've stopt the press to put it in. 

The American Review for June has made an outrageous at- 
tack upon Daniel Webster, and my literature. It is a whig 
Review, and therefore thinks Daniel Webster is small potatoes. 
It is a lif'r'nri/ Review, and therefore thinks my literature is 



JACK downing's letters. 117 

worse than nothin. According to my notion, Daniel is able 
enough to hoe his own potatoes, and therefore I shant answer 
for him ; but I have a word or two to say for myself. What 
is one's meat is another's pisen ; and if the American Review 
don't like my literature, it is because he doesn't know what is 
good, for every body else eats it and likes it. But let us see 
what the Review has to say about me. 

[From the. American Review for June, 1845.] 

" American Letters. — Is there an American school of 
writers ? None, certainly, unless they who degrade and vul- 
garise the tongueymd the taste of the country by performances, 
the whole merit of which consists in their adoption of particu- 
lar local slang (such as was employed in Major Downing's 
Letters, or in the lucubrations of Sam Slick) are the models 
of a new and noble literature that is to be for us. When these 
things shall found for us a learning, the Ethiopian Minstrels 
will create for us a Music, and the disciples of Jim Crow a 
Theatre of our own.'* 

I am willing to believe, after reading the Publisher's Pre- 
face to tl>is little book, that there is a Downing school of lite- 
rature in the country, and that I had something to do with it. 
But I did not know, before the American Review said so, that 
mine was the only " Amei'ican school of writers." The New- 
York Evening Gazette copies the paragraph from the Review, 
and makes the following remarks about it, which I think prove 
that the Gazette can tell a hawk from a handsaw if the Re- 
view cant. 

[From the Evening Gazette.] 

" The writer of the above amusingly confounds ' learning' 
with genius in the quoted sentence ; just as he elsewhere in 
the same article confounds the honor which the production of 
some great poem may confer upon the land which produced it, 
with the poetic associations wherewith a song-writer like 
Burns may clothe that land. We may never, in this country, 
produce an Epic that will live ; we may never, in these United 
States, give birth to a Homer, a Milton, or Tasso, whose 
world-isenown may proudly reflect upon ourselves. But, a 
hundred songs, from anonymous pens if you choose, having 
half the merit of those which have given a mystic charm to 
the braes and brooksides of the land of Burns, would still as- 
sociate a poelic feeling with the soil, that might be worth all 
the glory of an Epic. 



118 JACK downing's letteks. 

"In a word,. we maybe natio?iaIized in \itevaut\ire as well 
through our affections as through our intellect ; just as we 
may be more bound together by the characteristic strains of 
a few national airs than by the production of an opera ; — 
while the organ of those airs, if they come from among the 
many, will speak more for the general musical feeling of the 
people than the composition of the grandest overture from the 
hand of a Master. 

" The learned Dr. Julius, who was sent here by the King of 
Prussia, to make notes upon certain institutions of our country, 
carried home with him a scroll of these very ' Ethiopian 
songs,' at which this Reviewer sneers, as affording proof as 
striking as it was interesting, that we had the germs of a na- 
tional music among us ; and when his large collection of min- 
erals, pamphlets, &c., &c., was destroyed in the great fire of 
New- York, as he was on the eve of sailing for Europe — the 
worthy Doctor, in trying to replace what he could, was partic- 
ularly careful to supply the place of those humble ditties 
which had shared the fate of the vast mass of interesting ma- 
terials which he had been so indefatigable in bringing together 
for his royal master. 

"And now, as to the ' Jack Downing and Sam Slick litera- 
ture,' which this sage Reviewer thinks has the one sole mis- 
sion of vulgarizing the tongue and the taste of the country. We 
are not unwillmg to admit that it may have, in some degree, 
produced this effect ; but we care not for a small evil if it be 
inseparable from a great good. And this ' literature' has 
done good ; for if not the first sign of our intellectual inde- 
pendence, it certainly has aided vastly in breaking the servile 
chain of provilfbial imitation. It established the independent 
Republic of American jokedomupoa the ruins of transplanted 
cockneyism." 

Now, as for this ere difficulty between me and the editor of 
the American Review, I shant stop to have any very long 
yarn about it. If I was a great writer, as he is, I'd go at 
him pell-mell and raise such a dust about his head that he 
couldn't be seen again this six months. But I'm only a plain, 
blunt man, that speaks right on, and tells folks what they al- 
ready know. I'm something like that old Roman that Mr. 
Shakspeare tells about — for I do re id Shakspeare sometimes 
in winter evenings, and like it, it's full of meat as an oyster — 
so I say I'm something like that old Roman, " for I have 
neither wit, nor worth, nor words, action, nor utterance,''nor 



JACK downing's letters. 119 

power of speech to stir men's blood ;" and all I can do is to 
point my adversary to the pens of his editorial brethren, 
" poor, poor, dumb mouths, and bid them speak for me." 

The New- York Mirror, — I mean the old Mirror — five or six 
years ago, speaking of some of my writings published at that 
time, says : 

" These are the most graphic and really the best Yankee 
papers we have overseen, or expect to see, let who will write 
them. Their author has struck at a new line in literature, 
more piquant, racy, and original, than that adopted by ' Boz.' 
\\ e like him none the less for being ' native here, and to the 
manor born ;' for we are among those who can appreciate 
a good production, even before it has received the commen- 
dation of foreign critics." 

The New- York Morning Despatch, April 22, 1839, speaking 
of the same writings, says : 

" The author has the richest and most natural Yankee dia- 
lect of any writer who has attempted to give the peculiarities 
of Jonathan. The wit is real, attic, and something more than 
poor orthography." 

The New-Yorker, May 25th, 1839, speaking of the same 
writings, says : 

" It is enough to observe thit they emanate from the pen of 
the original author of the Jack Downing Letters. His Yan- 
kee stories and style are very diverting, and possess an origi- 
nality and fidelity, which are not discernable in the writings 
of a numerous horde of imitators." 

The New- York Courier and Enquirer, July 3, 1839, speaks 
of the same writings as follows : 

" There is no doubt that the author of this little volume is 
the best painter of Yankee peculiarities that ever wrote. He 
is true to nature and never caricatures, but without caricatur- 
ing, is most amusing." 

There, I might go on in this way and fill up another book. 
But I shan't do it ; for if the American Reviewer won't be- 
lieve the witnesses I've already brought up, I don't spose he 
would believe it if my dear old friend the Gineral should come 
back and tell him he was a goose. 

So I shall here bid my readers good-by till next time. 

THE END. 



JACK downing's letters. 113 

of his boarding place, especially at meal time ; and 
made himself so much at home, that Mrs. Brown 
and Jerusha were in a state of absolute felicity the 
whole week. It was true he spent two evenings 
abroad during the week, and it was reported that 
one of them was passed at Mr. Buck's. But Miss 
Jerusha would not believe a word of such a story. 
She said " there was no young folks at Mr. Buck's 
except Betsey, and she was sure Mr. Crotchet was 
a man of more sense than to spend his evenings 
with such a wild, rude thing as Betsey Buck." 
Still, however, the report gave her a little uneasi- 
ness ; and when it was ascertained, that during the 
week on which Mi\ Crotchet boarded at Mr. Buck's 
he spent every evening at home, except the three 
devoted to the singing-school. Miss Jerusha's un- 
easiness evidently increased. She resolved to make 
a desperate effort to counteract these untoward in- 
fluences, and to teach Miss Betsey Buck not to in- 
terfere with other folk's concerns. For this pur- 
pose she made a grand evening party, and invited 
all the young folks of the village, except Miss Buck, 
who was pointedly left out. The treat was elabo- 
rate for a country village, and Miss Jerusha was 
uncommonly assiduous in her attentions to Mr. 
Crotchet during the evening. But to her inexpres- 
sible surprise and chagrin, about eight o'clock, Mr. 
Crotchet put on his hat and great coat and bade the 
company good night. Mrs. Brown looked very 
blue, and Miss Jerusha's nerves were in a state of 
high excitement. What could it mean 1 She 
would give anything in the world to know where 
he had gone. She ran up into the chamber and 
looked out from the window. The night was ra- 
ther dark, but she fancied she saw him making his 
way toward Mr. Buck's. The company for the re- 
mainder of the evening had rather a dull time ; and 
Miss Jerusha passed almost a sleepless night. 



114 JACK downing' S LETTEES. 

The next evening Miss Jerusha was early at the 
singing-school. She took her seat with a disconso- 
late air, opened her singing-book and commenced 
singing Hallowell in the following Vv^ords: 

" As on some lonely building's top, 

The sparrow tells her moan, 
Far from the tents of joy and hope, 

I sit and grieve alone." 

On former occasions, when the scholars were 
singing before school commenced, the moment the 
master opened the door they broke off short, even 
if they were in the midst of a tune. But now, when 
the master entered, Miss Jerusha kept on singing. 
She went through the whole tune after Mr. Crotch- 
et came in, and went back and repeated the latter 
half of it with a loud and full voice, which caused a 
laugh among the scholars, and divers streaks of red 
to pass over the master's face. 

At the close of the evening's exercises Miss Je- 
rusha hurried on her shawl and bonnet, and watch- 
ed the movements of the master. She perceived 
he went out directly after Betsey Buck, and she 
hastened after them with becoming speed. She 
contrived to get between Miss Buck and the mas- 
ter as they walked along the road, and kept Mr. 
Crotchet in close conversation with her, or rather 
kept herself in close conversation with Mr. Crotch- 
et, till they came to the corner that turned down to 
Mr. Buck's house. Here Mr. Crotchet left her 
somewhat abruptly, and walked by the side of Miss 
Betsey toward Mr. Buck's. This was more than- 
Miss Jerusha's nerves could well bear. She was 
under too much excitement to proceed on her way 
home. She stopped and gazed after the couple as 
they receded from her ; and as their forms became 
indistinct in the darkness of the night, she turned 
and followed them, just keeping them in view till 
they I'eachnd the house. The door opened, and to 



JACK downing's letters. 115 

her inexpressible horror, they both went in. It was 
past ten o'clock, too ! She was greatly puzzled. 
The affair was entirely inexplicable to her. ^ It could 
not be, however, that he would stop many minutes, 
and she waited to see the result. Presently a light 
appeared in the "fore-room ;" and from the mellow- 
ness of that light a fire was evidently kindled there. 
Miss Jerusha approached the house and I'econnoi- 
tred. She tried to look in at the window, but a 
thick curtain effectually prevented her from seeing 
anything within. The curtain did not reach quite 
to the top of the window, and she thought she saw 
the shadows of two persons before the -lire, thrown 
against the ceiling. She was determined by some 
means or other to know the worst of it. She look- 
ed round the door-yard and found a long piece of 
board. She thought by placing this against the 
house by the side of the window, she might be able 
to climb up and look over the top of the curtain. 
The board was accordingly raised on one end and 
placed carefully by the side of the window, and Miss 
Jerusha eagerly commenced the task of climbing. 
She had reached the top of the curtain and cast one 
glance into the room, where, sure enough, she be- 
held Mr. Crotchet seated close by the side of Miss 
Betsey. At this interesting moment, from some 
cause or other, either from her own trembling, for 
she was exceedingly agitated, or from the board 
not being properly supported at the bottom, it slip- 
ped and canted, and in an instant one half of the 
window was dashed with a tremendous crash into 
the room. 

Miss Jerusha fell to the ground, but not being 
much injured by the fall, she sprang to her feet and 
ran with the fleetness of a wild deer. The door 
opened, and out came Mr. Crotchet and Mr. Buck, 
and started in the race. They thought they had a 
glimpse of some person running up the road when 



''16 V JACK downing's letters. 

they first came out, and Mr. Crotchet's long legs 
measured off the ground with remarkable velocity. 
Bat the fright had added so essentially to Miss Je- 
rusha's powers of locomotion, that not even Mr. 
Crotchet could overtake her, and her pursuers soon 
lost sight of her in the darkness of the night, and 
gave up the chase and returned home. 

Miss Jerasha was not seen at the singing-school 
after this, and Mrs. Brown said she stayed at home 
because she had a cough. Notwithstanding there 
were many rumors and surmises afloat, and some 
slanderous insinuations thrown out against Miss Je- 
rusha Brown, yet it was never ascertained by the 
neighbors, for a certainty, who it was that demol- 
ished Mr. Buck's window. 

One item farther remains to be added to this ve- 
ritable history ; and that is, that in three months 
from this memorable night. Miss Betsey Buck be- 
came Mrs. Crotchet of Quavertown. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

BT MAJOR DOWNING. 

When a lady or a politician writes a letter, you may gener- 
ally expect the most important idea to come into the post- 
script, jest as the newspaper folks put in a postscript for the 
latest news, and sometimes " stop the press" to announce it. 
Whether my postscript here will be the most important thing 
in the book, is not for me to say ; but it is the latest news, so 
I've stopt the press to put it in. 

The American Review for June has made an outrageous at- 
tack upon Daniel Webster, and my literature. It is a whig 
Review, and therefore thinks Daniel Webster is small potatoes. 
It is a lit^'r'vry Review, and therefore thinks my literature is 



JACK downing's letters. 117 

worse than nothin. According to my notion, Daniel is able 
enough to hoe his own potatoes, and therefore I shant answer 
for him ; but I have a word or two to say for myself. What 
is one's meat is another's pisen ; and if the American Review 
don't like my literature, it is because he doesn't know what is 
good, for every body else eats it and likes it. But let us see 
what the Review has to say about me. 

[From the American Review for June, 1845.] 

" American Letters. — Is there an American school of 
writers 1 None, certainly, unless they who degrade and vul- 
garise the tongutyand the taste of the country by performances, 
the whole merit of which consists in their adoption of particu- 
lar local slang (such as was employed in Major Downing's 
Letters, or in the lucubrations of Sam Slick) are the models 
df a new and noble literature that is to be for us. When these 
things shall found for us a learning, the Ethiopian Minstrels 
will create for us a Music, and the disciples of Jim Crow a 
Theatre of our own." 

I am willing to believe, after reading the Publisher's Pre- 
face to this little book, that there is a Downing school of lite- 
rature in the country, and that I had something to do with it. 
But I did not know, before the American Review said so, that 
mine was the only " American school of writers." The New- 
York Evening Gazette copies the paragraph from the Review, 
and makes the following remarks about it, which I think prove 
that the Gazette can tell a hawk from a handsaw if the Re- 
view cant. 

[From the Evening Gazette.] 

" The writer of the above amusingly confounds ' learning' 
with genius in the quoted sentence ; just as he elsewhere in 
the same article confounds the honor which the production of 
some great poem may confer upon the land which produced it, 
with the poetic associations wherewith a song-writer like 
Burns may clothe that land. We may never, in this country, 
produce an Epic that will live ; we may never, in these United 
States, give birth to a Homer, a Milton, or Tasso, whose 
world-senown may proudly reflect upon ourselves. But, a 
hundred songs, from anonymous pens if you choose, having 
half" the merit of those which have given a mystic charm to 
the b7'aes and brooksides of the land of Burns, would still as- 
sociate a jwelic feeling with the soil, that might be worth all 
the glory of an Epic. 



118 JACK downing's letters. 

" In a word, we may be nationalized in literature as well 
through our affections as through our intellect ; just as we 
may be more bound together by the characteristic strains of 
a few national airs than by the production of an opera ; — 
while the organ of those airs, if they come from among the 
many, will speak more for the general musical feeling of the 
people tlian the composition of the grandest overture from the 
hand of a Master. 

" The learned Dr. Julius, who was sent here by the Iling of 
Prussia, to make notes upon certain institutions of our country, 
carried home' with him a scroll of these very ' Ethiopian 
songs,' at which this Reviewer sneers, as affording proof as 
striking as it was interesting, that we had the germs of a na- 
tional music among us ; and when his large collection of min- 
erals, pamphlets, &c., &c., was destroyed in the great fire of 
New- York, as he was on the eve of sailing for Europe— ((he 
worthy Doctor, in trying to replace what lie could, was partic- 
ularly careful to supply the place of those humble ditties 
which had shared the fate of the vast mass of interesting ma- 
terials which he had been so indefatigable in bringing together 
for his royal master. 

" And now, as to the ' Jack Downing and Sam Slick litera- 
ture,' which this sage Reviewer thinks has the one sole mis- 
sion of vulgarizing the tongue and the taste of the country. We 
are not unwillmg to admit that it may have, in some degree, 
produced this effect ; but we care not for a small evil if it be 
inseparable from a great good. And this ' literature' has 
done good ; for if not the first sign of our intellectual inde- 
pendence, it certainly has aided vastly in breaking the servile 
chain of provincial imitation. It established the independent 
Republic of American jokedom upon the ruins of transplanted 
cockneyism." 

Now, as for this ere difficulty between me and the editor of 
the American Revievir, I shant stop to have any very long 
yarn about it. If I was a great writer, as he is, I'd go at 
him pell-mell and raise such a dust about his head that he 
couldn't be seen again this six months. But I'm only a plain, 
blunt man, that speaks right on, and tells folks what they al- 
ready know. I'm something like that old Roman that Mr. 
Shakspeare tells about — for I do rejd Shakspeare sometimes 
in winter evenings, and like it, it's full of meat as an oyster — 
so I say I'm something like that old Roman, " for I have 
neither wit, nor worth, nor words, action, nor utterance, nor 



JACK DOWNING 'S LETTERS. 119 

power of speech to stir men's blood ;" and all I can do is to 
point my adversary to the pens of his editorial brethren, 
" poor, poor, dumb mouths, and bid them speak for me." 

The New-York Mirror, — I mean the old Mirror — five or six 
years ago, speaking of some of my writings published at that 
time, says : 

" These are the most graphic and really the best Yankee 
papers we have ever seen, or expect to see, let who will write 
theiai. Their author has struck at a new line in literature, 
more piquant, racy, and original, than tliat adopted by ' Boz.' 
We like him none the less for being ' native here, and to the 
manor born ;' for we are among those who can appreciate 
a good production, even before it has received the commen- 
dation of foreign critics." 

The New- York Morning Despatch, April 22, 1839, speaking 
of the same writings, says : 

" The author has the richest and most natural Yankee dia- 
lect of any writer who has attempted to give the peculiarities 
of Jonathan. The wit is real, attic, and something more than 
poor orthography." 

The New-Yorker, May 25th, 1839, speaking of the same 
writings, says : 

" It is enough to observe that they emanate from the pen of 
the original author of the Jack Downing Letters. His Yan- 
kee stories and style are very diverting, and possess an origi- 
nality and fidelit)', which are not discernable in the writings 
of a numerous horde of imitators." 

The New- York Courier and Enquirer, July 3, 1839, speaks 
of the same writings as follows : 

" There is no doubt that the author of this little volume is 
the best painter of Yankee peculiarities that ever wrote. He 
is true to nature and never caricatures, but without caricatur- 
ing, is most amusing." 

There, I might go on in this way and fill up another book. 
But I shan't do it ; for if the American Reviewer won't be- 
lieve the witnesses I've already brought up, I don't spose he 
would believe it if my dear old friend the Gineral should come 
back and tell him he was a goose. 

So I shall here bid my readers good-by till next time. 

THE END. 



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